Hard Promises to Keep
by walkertxkitty
Summary: When an exhausted Matt becomes ill, both he and Kitty have time to rethink their relationship. Updated! Chapter 15: Kitty and Matt have a conversation, an intruder breaks into the Long Branch.
1. Chapter 1

**Hard Promises to Keep**

**Author's Note:** The events in this story are an elaboration of events in the episode "A Quiet Day in Dodge", which first aired during season eighteen on January 29, 1973. It's a cross between a "what if?" moment and a bit of explanation because I think Matt looks truly _awful_ in that episode. Furthermore, I don't believe Kitty would just walk off and leave him like that without making sure he was okay…eventually. This is my first Gunsmoke fan-fic so be kind.

**All characters are copyright to CBS, I'm just borrowing them.**

"_I'm trying to believe in forever_

_I'm trying to believe in the little jewel box life we lead_

_Babe, I get so close sometimes_

_But all I really know is_

_I believe that we've been making hard promises to keep"_

**--** "Hard Promises to Keep" performed by Trisha Yearwood

**Chapter 1**

**Two Days Earlier**

The Marshal's innards were griping him a bit; he ignored it and concentrated on his quarry. It wasn't all that unusual for a man's belly to go sour before a skirmish and he was used to it. He pulled Buck up behind an outcropping of rock and dismounted.

The dry barren plain sloped gently below into a wash through which a trickle of water passed. Cottonwoods and scrub oak had taken advantage of its proximity and grown up to shade the faint trail which led down to the stream's edge. The trail meandered back onto the high plains but not before it passed a draw at the bend in the stream. Once there had been a mining encampment there but not much remained: the tumbledown shell of the company store, a windmill connected to a now dry well, and a few weathered posts where the corrals had been.

Matt Dillon had tracked lawbreakers to this area before and he dreaded each encounter. It offered scant coverage once he left the relative safety of the outcropping but offenders could blend into the shadows of the shacks and they had a clear shot at anyone coming down the trail. He and other lawmen had tried several times to clear this hide-out in the badlands but it never seemed to stay cleaned out.

He sighed; it was just the way his luck had been running lately that Job Snelling would have decided to flee here of all places. Not only was Job an accomplished gunman who had murdered two families and a sheriff but he also had a habit of resisting arrest. Twice he'd been caught by other marshals and both times he had escaped. Matt didn't intend for him to do it a third time.

A thin plume of barely visible smoke rose above the remains of the mining camp. His keen sight also caught the flare of a tiny ember, quickly shielded. Good, that meant Job Snelling was not only in the area but fixing to bunk for the night. Matt weighed the options. A twilight attack would decrease his ability to see the target but would afford him some measure of cover as he approached. Going in while the sun was still high overhead would increase his chances of being seen and taking fire but would guarantee him a clearly visualized shot.

After careful consideration, Matt decided on a compromise which would give him the best of both advantages while minimizing the danger. He waited until the sun had moved low on the horizon and the draw was in shadow. Drawing his Colt .45 Peacemaker, he checked his rounds and then spun the cylinder back into place. It closed with a satisfying click. Cocking the hammer on the gun, Matt slunk forward. Leaving the safety of the boulder, he sprinted between outcroppings until he reached the stream's bank. This would be the most dangerous part of the approach, for there was no cover at all between here and the draw. He chose not to follow the trail but slithered through the muddy water.

Exiting on the opposite bank, Matt used the scant cover of the scrub oaks to catch his breath and reassess the situation. The campfire was clearly visible now. He dug for the warrant and the wanted poster in his pocket to check it against the man laying the fire. No doubt about it, it _was_ Job Snelling. He stuffed the paperwork back into the pocket of his vest and buttoned up his overcoat. A wind had sprung up, cutting through his damp clothes and while the day had been sweltering the nights were often downright chilly.

His throat tickled, making him want to cough. He stifled it and wished he hadn't left his canteen looped over Buck's saddle. He sure could use a drink to clear the dust right about now. What Matt really needed most was a decent night's sleep and a cold beer, not necessarily in that order. More importantly, he relished the company of a certain redhead while he drank that beer. He wondered if he'd get back in time to go on that picnic with Kitty. Matt usually never promised anything but this time he'd told her nothing would keep him. She'd been increasingly irritated with their broken or interrupted plans and he felt he had to do _something_ to appease her. Well, he couldn't have known he'd be chasing a murderer half way to the Texas border.

Matt put those thoughts away as distracting and returned his attention to Snelling's camp site. The sun was almost down and if Matt was going to make his move, he needed to do it quick. The marshal began to move forward but a fit of coughing caught him unaware. He muffled it as best he could but Snelling had been alerted. He saw the wanted man reach under the bedroll and draw up a rifle.

Snelling held his weapon with the attitude of a man who is desperate, dangerous, and scared. The man, missing the marshal by mere inches, fired randomly in the direction of the noise. "Who's out there? Y'better c'mon out or I'm gunna put a hole in ya so wide folk'll be able to see next week."

"Dang it!" Matt had lost the element of surprise. He called out, "Matt Dillon, US Marshal for Dodge City. Drop the rifle, you're under arrest!" Snelling answered with a burst of shot which zinged off the rocks just above Matt's head. He twisted away and scuttled up the other side of the stream bed where a large lightning blackened cottonwood offered scant cover.

"I ain't a-goin' peaceably!" Snelling hollered. "You come an' take me, Marshal, if'n you can."

"I didn't figure so," Matt muttered. He knew that, with this particular man, he shouldn't have thought differently but he was cold, wet, tired, and thirsty. Unfortunately, it didn't look like things would be going his way this time. "Drop it, Snelling," he repeated. "I don't want to have to shoot you, but I will."

"Go ahead, Marshal," he taunted. "it won't do you any good 'cause you'll be dead afore you git off a shot."

Instinct took over and Matt found himself rolling to one side. Shot chewed off a chunk of the cottonwood's bark; if he had waited a few seconds longer, Snelling would have had him. As it was, he'd still been grazed by flying splinters. He winced; some of those would likely need Doc Adams' attention when and if he made it back to Dodge. Matt realized he was too tired to keep this up; he had to end it quickly before Snelling got the better of him.

Pulling himself up from a belly crawl into a crouch, the marshal rolled forward. As he came up, he took aim at Snelling. The bullet smacked into the rifle stock and knocked the weapon from the man's hand. Before the outlaw could recover, Matt launched himself at him and knocked him into the dust. "It's over," he said, using his height to advantage and pinning the other to the ground. Snelling kept fighting him, but Matt finally wrestled him into submission with a good clip to the side of the jaw. "Down on the ground," he growled, thrusting his knee into the outlaw's back. "I don't want a move out of you." He fastened the handcuffs around Snelling's wrists and then hauled him to his feet. "Get on the horse."

"I ain't a-gonna," Job Snelling responded sullenly.

Matt lost his temper. The big man, maintaining his hold on the outlaw's jacket collar, hauled him clear of the ground and pinned him roughly against a tree. "I'm through messing around." He smiled and it wasn't a nice one. "Now, you got two choices: you can ride the horse face up or I can haul you back to town face down. Which will it be?"

"Leggo," he rasped. "I'll git on the dang horse. You don't gotta be so rough."

The marshal waited for Snelling to mount and then tethered the man's hands to the saddle horn as an extra precaution against escape. He grabbed the horse's reins and led it back across the stream to the outcropping where he had left Buck. The big buckskin, unimpressed by all the fuss, stood there placidly chomping on a few stems of prairie grass. Matt tossed the reins over the other horse's neck where they would be well out of reach of Snelling's bound hands, and then grabbed his canteen. The water, though tepid, did much to relieve his flagging senses. He nearly drained the canteen, knowing they'd pass at least one watering hole and several streams on the way back to Dodge, and looped it back over Buck's saddle. Matt could still feel the fatigue dragging at him as he mounted up. His stiffened leg didn't want to cooperate and he nearly fell from the horse.

"A bit knackered, are ya?" Snelling said. "Best sleep with one eye open, Marshal, if'n ya don't wanna wake up with a hole in ya." He laughed mirthlessly at his own joke. "A' course if'n I shoot ya, ya won't wake up a-tall."

"Shut up, Snelling," Matt snarled and nudged Buck into a ground eating gallop. He pushed himself and the horses hard over the next hours because he wanted to get as much distance between the place in which he'd captured Job Snelling and their current position. Snelling had no known associates but that didn't mean other lawbreakers wouldn't try to free him from the marshal's custody on principle.

The other horse was played out; its head hung low with exhaustion and its sides, frothy with sweat, heaved. Matt didn't want to be any closer to Snelling than necessary and he would have to haul him back on Buck if the other horse collapsed. He elected to make camp in a hollow beside one of the streams. It had the advantage of being somewhat secluded but offering a clear view of anyone approaching.

Matt's knees buckled as he dismounted and he grabbed at Buck's reins to keep himself upright. Fortunately the bulk of the big buckskin's body kept his prisoner from noticing the mishap. He straightened with effort and then removed his rifle from its scabbard. Training it on Job Snelling, he walked over to the other horse and untied the man's hands. "Get down from there. We're stopping for the night."

Snelling had the unmitigated gall to try kicking the rifle out of Matt's hands. Once more, the marshal's instincts kept him from harm. He yanked the rifle back and blocked the kick with his forearm. Snapping the gun into position, he jacked a shell into the barrel. "Don't try anything else, Snelling. Nothing in the warrant says I have to bring you back alive."

That seemed to momentarily quell his prisoner. He made no effort to help make camp but slouched against a tree stump while Matt gathered firewood, laid his bedroll, and refilled his canteen from the stream. Deep weariness settled upon the lawman as he did so. His throat was dry again; he drank deeply from the stream and then decided a quick wash might be beneficial. At least it would keep the worst of the nicks and cuts from becoming infected before Doc could tend to them. As he straightened, his vision blurred. Matt rubbed a hand across his eyes to clear them and then struggled back up the stream bank. Supplies were running short, as he hadn't planned on being gone from Dodge this long. It didn't matter since Matt discovered he wasn't hungry. The thought of eating gave his stomach an unpleasant turn. He didn't push the issue but brewed up the last ration of coffee for himself and tossed a trail ration of dried meat and hardtack at the prisoner.

"Got no stomach fer yer vittles?" Snelling taunted. "Whassa matter, Marshal, all that chasin' around put you off'n yer feed? Or is ya so afraid o' pore ole bound Job here that yer belly's turned yeller?"

With a long suffering sigh, Matt drained his coffee cup and tossed the dregs into the fire. "Now look here, Job, I told you once before to shut that mouth of yours," he snapped.

"Why should I?"

"Because if you don't, I'm going to gag you with your own socks. Now shut up and go to sleep."

Settling his back against a tree stump as comfortably as he could, Matt retired to his bedroll but he didn't go to sleep. He couldn't take the chance that Snelling would either slip away or kill him. Instead Matt kept watch until false dawn, when he kicked the prisoner awake, scuffed out the remains of their campfire, and pointed Buck toward Dodge.


	2. Chapter 2

**All characters are copyright to CBS, I'm just borrowing them.**

"_You want me to believe in forever_

_Do you know how tight I'm holding_

_Just to keep my grip on yesterday?_

_I'm trying hard to see the pretty pictures that you paint for me_

_Do you know how tight I'm holding to hard promises to keep"_

**-- **"Hard Promises to Keep" performed by Trisha Yearwood

**Chapter 2 **

**Two Days Later**

A glorious prairie sunrise had turned the skies around Dodge molten gold edged with orange and tinged turquoise at the horizon where the hills met it by the time Matt Dillon and his prisoner straggled into Dodge. Only the old lamplighter was up at this hour snuffing the street lights. All else was quiet, a boon for which the exhausted marshal was grateful. It was as well Buck knew his way home because Matt hadn't the wit to give the horse directions.

It was a small miracle they'd made it back to Dodge without incident. Matt had driven them hard across the prairie for two days straight, stopping only when the other horse could no longer keep the pace. He'd listened to Job Snelling's taunts and jibes until he fervently wished he wasn't wearing a badge and could shut the outlaw's mouth himself. The man had tried twice more to escape. Matt now sported an assortment of bruises and scrapes from tackling the man and tangling with him in the brush and Job Snelling had finished his journey to Dodge hog tied across the saddle of the other horse.

Buck was a good strong mount, of mustang stock, but even he had his limitations. The poor beast staggered as Matt reined him up in front of the jail. Even though he was dead tired, Matt promised himself he'd see his faithful companion safely stabled, curried, and fed an extra measure of grain before he took care of himself. He was fairly certain Job's horse would have to be put down; it hung its head, sides heaving and lathered, and stood there simply struggling for breath.

As Matt looped Buck's reins over the hitching post, Snelling made a last desperate attempt at escape. He had had a lot of time to work loose the knots binding him to the saddle and the marshal had been too exhausted to notice this lapse. Pretending to doze in the saddle as the marshal approached, Job suddenly raised a fist and drove it into Matt's face.

Matt hadn't been expecting an attack, but he managed to drag the prisoner from the horse as it took off down Front Street. Buck, startled by the sudden scuffling movements, shied away and took off after the other horse. Snelling had Matt at a disadvantage now and he pressed it. He wrapped his handcuffed hands around the marshal's neck and began strangling him. Matt clawed at the hands encircling his throat but couldn't break the hold. Frantic, the marshal elbowed Snelling in the solar plexus. Snelling collapsed backward with the air knocked out of him. He solved the problem of maintaining a hold on the prisoner by simply sitting on him while he massaged his bruised throat and tried to force oxygen back into his abused lungs.

When he could breathe again, the marshal grabbed Snelling by the lapels on his jacket and pinned him against one of the roof supports. "That's enough out of you," Matt said roughly, wishing he wasn't back in Dodge or that it wasn't early in the morning so that he could just shoot Snelling and be done with him. "Now get in there!" He shoved the outlaw in the direction of the jail's entrance and then leaned against the hitching post as he wheezed. Somewhere along the trail that annoying tickle in his throat had become an equally annoying cough. His shoulders slumped when he noticed Buck was no longer tethered. _Well, he probably hasn't got far._ Matt knew he would likely find the horse standing in his stall at the livery patiently waiting to be fed. _Best get Job Snelling behind bars where he belongs before something _else _happens._ The sleep he so desperately longed for would have to wait but it wouldn't be much longer.

"Ya ain't had near all of me as yer gonna get, Dillon!" Snelling snarled as Matt shepherded him toward the jail cell. Matt ignored him, slammed the cell door shut and began walking away. "Hey!" Snelling said, thrusting his handcuffed hands through the bars, "what about these things? Ain'tcha gonna take 'em off?"

For a moment Matt stared in puzzlement. It took a moment for his sleep deprived mind to absorb the fact that he couldn't legally leave Snelling shackled like that as it would be considered unjust treatment of a prisoner. _Can't believe I forgot to release him._ Something didn't feel right; he put it down to tiredness and decided a few hours' sleep would be all that was needed to cure what was ailing him. "By all rights, I ought to leave you like that," he muttered but ethics overrode resentment and he removed the handcuffs.

"How long you gonna figure on keepin' me in here?" Snelling whined.

"I'll let you know that tomorrow," Mat said shortly and closed the thick wooden door which separated the cells from the marshal's office. Too weary to even put them back on their peg, he tossed the ring of keys onto his desk and then prepared to go in search of his horse. His head ached and blackness threatened to star out his vision. Suddenly Matt didn't know if he even _had_ the energy to properly care for his horse.

The sound of hoof beats on the packed dirt of Front Street jerked him alert. He peered out the entrance to the jail and spotted Hank from the livery leading Buck by the reins. _One less thing I have to worry about before I get some sleep._ He forced himself to stand upright and hoped his voice didn't betray how tired he felt. As marshal of Dodge City, Matt had appearances to keep up and it wouldn't do to display any kind of weakness. "Oh, thanks, Hank. Could you get them put away for me?"

The livery hand tipped his hat to the marshal. "Sure thing, Marshal Dillon. Hank hesitated as though deciding whether or not to bother Matt with something and then mentioned, "Might need to put the other one down. He's fair heavy winded and liked to collapsed afore I got 'im squared away."

Matt nodded soberly. "I know. Do what you can for him." Matt needed the horse to live, if at all possible. Since it had been stolen from one of the murdered family's farms, it provided a solid connection between Job Snelling and those crimes. The law could make the case without the horse, but Matt preferred things to be airtight. He didn't like it when, as all too often happened, former prisoners were released because nothing could be proven.

He went back inside, contemplated looking over the few items waiting for him, and decided against it. He didn't bother hanging up his hat, just took it off and tossed it to the desk. Blowing out the lamp, Matt shrugged out of his coat and hung it on a peg. A glance at the railroad clock on the wall showed it was ten after five in the morning. The bone deep weariness he'd been pushing off for two days now crashed upon him like an avalanche. He was too tired to do more than unbuckle his holster and put it somewhere he'd be likely to find it later. Matt sank onto the narrow cot, sighing, and sat there a moment with his head in his hands. He lay down and fell asleep before he could even take his boots off.

The slamming of the door and some off-key yodeling awakened him not much later. He recognized the voice of one of his deputies, Festus Haggen. Matt was normally tolerant of the hill man's garrulous nature but with his head pounding so badly and his body still begging for sleep he was in no mood to deal with Festus' antics right now. He wanted to be left alone in peace and quiet until he'd had at least eight hours' sleep.

The odor of fish, river mud, and wet burlap permeated the room. Matt's eyes flew open and his stomach turned over. Obviously his deputy had just returned from a fishing trip, but he hoped the man didn't intend to clean and cook them in here. Noise and nosiness aside, Matt didn't think his stomach could handle that.

"Matthew?" Had his deputy always had such a loud, annoying voice?

"What is it, Festus?" Matt closed his eyes again, hoping the deputy would take the hint and go away.

"When'd you git back?"

He sighed, took a deep breath, supressed a cough. The last thing he needed was Festus to suspect he was anything but tired. The well meaning deputy would tell Kitty, Kitty would go get Doc, and then he'd have the lot of them in here fussing over him. He just wanted to sleep. There was nothing wrong with him that a few hours' sleep wouldn't cure. "About five minutes ago," he managed.

Festus' voice took on an indignant tone at being given so little information. "Whal, where you bin at these last couple o' days? We got to frettin' 'bout you."

"I've been trailing Job Snelling."

"Job Snelling? Where'd you run acrosst him at?"

"Festus," Matt said in the firmest voice he could manage, "I'll tell you about it later. Right now, I haven't had sleep in thirty-six hours." He turned over and buried his face in the pillow, hoping his literal minded deputy would finally take the hint.

Festus drew up short and looked more closely at the marshal, noting the untended cuts, scrapes, and bruises as well as the unkempt condition of his clothes. His voice softened with compassion and understanding as he nodded. "Of course, Matthew. You go ahead on and git yourself some sleep. You blame shore need it."

He did not, however, leave. Instead Festus emptied out his sack of catfish onto the scarred table where he intended to clean them. The unappetizing scent of fish and wet burlap became stronger. Matt held a hand to his head and tugged at his curls in frustration. He didn't want to yell at the gentle deputy and hurt his feelings, but if Festus insisted on cleaning those fish in here, he was going to be sick. "Festus!"

"What is it, Matthew?" Festus asked anxiously. He still held a catfish by the tail with one hand, within inches of Matt's face.

"Do you have to do that in here?" Matt groaned.

"Do what?"

Literal minded Festus occasionally required exact instructions. He seemed at times to lack the ability to connect comments in a conversation unless told to what they pertained. Normally that was one of the things which made him a good deputy. Just now Matt wished his friend wasn't so simple minded. And why on earth did he have to come over here with that stupid fish in his hand?

"Clean those fish!"

"Whal, of course Matthew," exclaimed Festus, misunderstanding Matt's question. "Catfish has got to be cleaned right quick elsewise they're liable to sour on you. Anybody knows that."

Matt swallowed and wished that Festus hadn't mentioned that little tidbit. "Can't you take them outside and do it out there?"

"Oh," said the hill man, relieved, "that's a good idea, Matthew. I'll do that."

Festus was gathering up his fish when it occurred to him that Matt hadn't given him any instructions regarding the prisoner. "Matthew? What are you fixin' to do with Snelling?"

"I'm gonna take him over to Judge Brooker this afternoon," he mumbled, "after I get some sleep!"

"Oh. Yeah." Taken aback by the marshal's harsh tone of voice, Festus decided to cut his losses and leave the marshal be until he was in a better mood. He created quite a ruckus moving the table outside but since it meant Matt would no longer have to smell the fish, he didn't complain. He did roll his eyes and groan when Festus reappeared in the doorway. "Oh, Matthew? I plum forgot to tell you Juddge Brooker, he ain't goin' to be here later on today. I heard him say he was a-goin' to take the half past six stage up to Hays. So if you're fixin' to see him, it better be _mucho pronto._"

"Well, maybe I can get a little sleep anyway for a few minutes." He really didn't feel like getting back up but he didn't want to keep Job Snelling here without advising him of his rights and sending him on for trial either. "Festus? Wake me up at a quarter to six, would you?"

His deputy smiled. "You betcha. And I'm gonna make you the best catfish breakfast you ever slapped a lip over. I'll guarantee you." The marshal's eyes went wide and he wondered how he could possibly talk his way out of that breakfast. Food was the last thing he wanted. Matt curled into the pillow and closed his eyes. In the distance he could hear Festus arguing with someone over something. His deputy shut up once he'd bellowed at him to do so. Matt turned on his side and tried to go back to sleep.

The next interruption came in the form of an irate widow with a street urchin in tow. She did not knock but slammed the door open and began screeching at Matt to wake up. Matt clutched defensively at his head, hoping Festus or Newly might appear and deter her but the widow Pry went straight to Matt's cot and began shaking it.

At the mention of the word "thief", lawman's instincts took over and Matt managed to sit up. Glancing at the clock, he discovered he'd been asleep less than half an hour. "What happened?" he asked.

The headache was worse than it had been when he laid down. He ran a hand over his eyes and scrunched his silvery curls in frustration while the widow went on and on…about a couple of stolen pies, one of which had obviously been thrown at her. She wanted the boy jailed. Privately, Matt didn't think the incident warranted more than a stiff warning and an apology --- he'd pulled such antics himself as a boy --- but he promised to do something about it so the widow would quit nagging him and leave. The widow Pry halted in the doorway, taking in Matt's disheveled appearance and watery, bloodshot eyes. "You look terrible, Marshal. You should take better care of yourself." She went out then, leaving Matt staring at her in disbelief.

"If I could get any sleep around here, I just might do that," he muttered and let go of the boy's shoulder.

The boy, making a dash for the door, ran into Festus carrying a breakfast tray which scattered everywhere. _Well, that's one problem solved at least. _ "What's goin' on here?" Festus asked. He had the urchin by the back of the collar.

There didn't seem to be any point in going back to bed; duty and the citizens of Dodge weren't about to allow Matt to catch up on his sleep. "Festus, I've got to get Snelling over to see Judge Brooker before he leaves." He pointed at the widow Pry's pie thief as he buckled on his holster. "I'll figure out what to do with him when I get back." Leaving instructions for the kid to clean up the mess he had made, Matt found the ring of keys, unlocked Snelling's cell, and kicked him awake. "All right, Snelling, on your feet."

Unbelievably, Snelling made another attempt at escape. He darted through the open cell door, shoving Matt against the bars, and launched himself into the office. Matt, wild eyed with surprise, drew his gun and cast himself in a flying leap after him. They both hit the floor in a jumble of limbs and fists and Matt's gun went flying.

Festus had his gun out but he couldn't get a clear shot. "Hey, Matthew," he hollered, "give me room and I'll bust 'im."

Matt tried, but his reactions were slowed by lack of sleep. He threw a wild punch which knocked Snelling back and away but the outlaw came up off the floor with a fork, of all things, which he plunged deeply into the marshal's arm. As Matt lay on the floor stunned, Festus stepped in and clubbed Snelling with the butt of his revolver. With gentle hands, he helped Matt back into a standing position. "You all right, Matthew?"

"No." It took a lot for him to admit that. He didn't mean the wound Snelling had given him; that hurt badly enough but he had to admit --- to himself at least --- that there was something more wrong with him than needing a good night's sleep. He felt just plain _awful_. His right hand clutched a profusely bleeding wound on his bicep and he stared at it in abstract fascination. _How the blazes could a fork do that much damage?_

Festus had taken a red handkerchief from his pocket and used it as a temporary bandage. "You'd better get over to see ole Doc 'cause he jogged you pretty deep there."

"Yeah." Matt was beginning to think that seeing Doc wouldn't be a bad idea at all. Maybe he could do something about the cough and his pounding head as well. Where he would find the time was another matter entirely.

"You want me t' take Snelling over fer you?" Festus offered gently. He didn't much like the way his friend looked, as though he were sickening for something. For as long as he'd known the big man, Festus had never known the marshal to let a contained prisoner get the jump on him like that. Something must be wrong.

"No," said Matt, deeply appreciating his friend's offer, "I want you to stay here with that kid. And get the handcuffs, would you?" He mustered the effort to pull Snelling up off the floor. "All right, Job, on your feet here." Matt had to lean against the corner of the desk for a moment. He was winded and his vision kept fading in and out on him.

Festus took the prisoner from him and fastened the handcuffs, in the rear this time. "Don't be thrashin' around now," he warned, "or I'll whack ya on t'other side. All right, Matt."

Matt put his hat on and nudged Snellling out the door. He just had the feeling that this day wasn't going to get any better. Some promises, especially those associated with a badge, were awful hard on a body to keep.


	3. Chapter 3

**All characters are copyright to CBS, I'm just borrowing them.**

"_Promises are like little diamonds_

_Promises are like little hearts_

_We meant to give away_

_I thought you'd want them back someday_

_I've kept them for you anyway_

_But I know when I've been given hard promises to keep"_

**-- **"Hard Promises to Keep" performed by Trisha Yearwood

**Chapter 3**

Matt spared a moment to straighten his clothes and brush the dried mud from his vest before he entered Judge Brooker's office. Hiding pain was second nature to him by now, after so many years on the job. He wanted the judge to see a professional, confident law man and not the bone weary man Matt knew himself to really be. Snelling, cowed by Festus' threats, made no trouble but stood sullenly beside Matt as both listened to what the judge had to say.

"It's clear cut, Matt," Judge Brooker was saying as though he expected an argument from the marshal. "He's still in the army and we have to return him to Fort Dodge."

If Matt had felt better, Judge Brooker might have had the confrontation he expected on his hands. Matt forced some semblance of hardiness into his voice as he leaned casually against the judge's desk and said, "Well, what about all those people he killed in Mertilla?"

Judge Brooker shook his head emphatically. "He's an escaped prisoner and under the government's jurisdiction. Now we have no choice but to return him and let the higher courts decide. I suggest you take him back to prison just as soon as possible."

He couldn't hide his expression of dismay. He didn't care who had jurisdiction over Snelling's trial, he just wanted to be rid of responsibility for the man. Fort Dodge wasn't far away, but it was too long a ride for an exhausted wounded man guarding a dangerous prisoner.

Snelling had a disrespectful smirk on his face; Matt could tell he was already plotting escape. "Long way back, Marshal. Lotta things could happen if'n a body isn't careful."

"Shut up, Snelling," Matt snapped. Even if it was the last thing he wanted to do, he'd do his best to carry out the judge's orders.

He was almost grateful when Judge Brooker shook his head and objected. "He's right, Matt. That arm doesn't look very good. Maybe you ought to let Festus and Newly do it."

"No. No, I'm all right, Judge." He wasn't all right but he didn't want the Judge to think he would put off important responsibilities on his two less experienced deputies.

Judge Brooker struck his most officious pose. He'd known the Dodge City marshal a number of years and had developed ways of countering Matt's stubbornness. "The court requests you assign deputies to it," he stated firmly. "And get yourself some sleep, would you? You look terrible."

Matt sighed. "I'm getting tired of people telling me that," he said but he didn't say it loud enough for Judge Brooker, who might have interpreted it as disobeying orders, to overhear.

The day went to hell in a hand basket from there. He returned to the jail to find Festus gagged and bound to a chair with his own handcuffs. The wayward pie thief, of course, was nowhere to be seen. Festus had plenty to say once he'd been released. Matt had leaned up against the wall, closed his eyes, and tried to drown out the deputy's furiously indignant babblings. It helped that the pounding in his head created a roaring in his ears which made it difficult to pay attention anyway.

Before setting out again for Doc's, Matt decided he might as well make his rounds. He made a few discrete inquiries regarding the origins and whereabouts of the little boy and then charged Burke with the duty of rounding him up. Burke too commented on the marshal's apparent state of unwellness and that was bad because Burke told anyone and everyone who cared to listen about the things he noticed, whether what he noticed was correct or not. He had a well established reputation as the town gossip.

In spite of his best efforts to appear otherwise, the citizens of Dodge were noticing how ragged and worn down their marshal looked. They kept casting surreptitious glances in Matt's direction, their faces showing concern and worry. A few of the braver and nosier souls even inquired after his health. Matt redoubled his efforts to appear less tired and to stand straighter. He was finding it difficult enough to not fall to the boardwalk unconscious.

_How did I get myself into this mess?_ It wasn't as though the townspeople demanded he be superhuman or that he never take a day's rest. Matt, however, felt a self imposed obligation to them which ran deep into his lawman's soul. He was their marshal, the literal embodiment of the law, and any weakness in the law --- in Matt's mind, anyway --- meant potentially putting citizens who depended on him in danger. He couldn't allow that.

He was concentrating so hard he almost ran Kitty down on the boardwalk outside the mercantile. Matt couldn't help smiling when he saw her, no matter how tired he was and how awful he felt. Today she wore a dark blue skirt which matched her eyes and one of the loose silk blouses with the tapered sleeves he so loved. The cameo at her throat was one he'd given her many Christmases ago. She was probably getting ready to work at the Long Branch, since her coppery hair was done up in tight business-like ringlets. Matt preferred it down past her shoulders or loosely coifed, the way she sometimes wore it after one of their evenings together. "Hello, Kitty!" he said, favoring her with one of his shy smiles. No matter how often they were together, she always made him feel like an awkward adolescent with his first girl.

Kitty didn't even acknowledge him. Head held high and a miffed expression on her face, she walked right past him. Matt knew then he'd forgotten something, and something fairly important it seemed, but his head was so muddled he couldn't for the life of him recall what it might be. Abruptly Matt didn't feel like keeping appearances up any more. The wound on his arm hurt, he didn't feel well, and he just wanted Doc to take care of it all so he could get back to his cot and finally get some sleep.

It took every bit of willpower he had to make the climb to Doc's office. Doc Adams, reading a medical journal at his desk, saw the lawman come in and immediately surmised all was not well. "C'mon in, Matt, and tell me what's on your mind," he offered. "Say, that looks like it was done with a fork!"

"It was," said Matt through gritted teeth, "and I've about had all the complications I can stand for one day, so if you don't mind…"

That was Doc Adams' cue to ask no further questions about the wound or any of the other scrapes, cuts, and bruises he was going to have to disinfect and dress. Whatever was bothering Matt evidently had nothing to do with these. "You look like you've lost your best friend," he commented as he got out his supplies and began working.

"Something like that," Matt muttered. He found himself telling Doc Adams about Kitty's strange behavior toward him earlier.

"Hmm," mused Doc as he finished with the last of the scrapes and gestured for Matt to roll up his sleeve so he could work on the wound Snelling had given him. "So you think her behavior is very strange and _I_ think it's very strange. But evidently _she_ doesn't think it's strange." He soaked a wad of cotton in alcohol and pressed it into the wound.

Matt, ordinarily stoic about aches and pains, actually flinched and jerked away. "That hurts, Doc."

"Hold still!" Doc commanded in a tone few could get away with using on Matt Dillon. "Well, I'm sorry," he continued without much sympathy, "but Job Snelling cut you pretty good and it has to be cleaned out."

_Forks…Kitty's anger…promises to keep…_PICNIC! Matt groaned and it had nothing to do with the pain in his arm or how awful he felt physically. He had thought his picnic date with Kitty was tomorrow because his sense of time was askew from so little sleep. That hadn't been the case, however, as he clearly remembered he had promised to go on a picnic with her…yesterday. "Well, it was just a picnic, Doc," Matt defended himself. "Why would she be mad about that?"

"Let me tell you something, Matt," Doc began in a fatherly tone, " there is no such thing as 'just' a picnic where a woman is concerned, especially when promises were made."

"Well," Matt began, exasperated, "I was trailing Job Snelling. I couldn't very well stop in the middle of that to go to a picnic!"

He anticipated Doc Adams' response before he said it because he already knew it to be true. "You shouldn't have made a promise you knew you might not be able to keep. That's a sure fire way to earn a woman's ire. She'd gone to an awful lot of trouble for 'just' a picnic. Why, good heavens, she had fried chicken and apple pie she'd made herself. Oh, it was delicious."

Now Matt knew for certain he was in hot water and would have to do a lot of work to get back in Kitty's good graces. The proprietress of the Long Branch didn't cook often and when she did, it was a special occasion. Matt had never eaten so well as the times when Kitty had blessed him with her own cooking. "You mean, _you_ went with her?"

Doc Adams favored Matt with a glare. Just about everyone knew he had a soft spot in his heart for Kitty Russell and loved her like a daughter. Anyone hurting her feelings earned Doc's wrath. "Someone had to," he said grumpily. "Someone _had _to after she went to all that trouble and waited all day for you."

That explained why the normally compassionate doctor had been so rough dressing those wounds. While it distressed Matt to know he'd inadvertently made another friend upset with him, he was glad it had distracted Doc enough that he didn't notice what rough shape the marshal was really in. The last thing Matt wanted to hear was yet another scolding and lecture about his health. "Doc, do you think she was _really_ mad?"

"Oh. I…oh!" Doc didn't know how to answer that. Kitty had had some choice words to say about Marshal Dillon's forgetfulness. It would likely be quite a while before the redhead deigned to talk to him for any reason any time soon. Instead, he changed the subject. "One more thing, Matt. Before you go see Kitty, I want you to get some sleep. You look…"

"Yeah, I know," Matt grumbled, rolling his eyes. "I look terrible."

Head hanging low and bad leg dragging, Matt stumbled his way back to the jail. He'd just taken his boots off and was about to lie down on the cot when Kitty burst through the door. He could tell by the way she held herself that she was in an angry, confrontational mood. _Great, just what I need._ She looked at him, fire snapping in her eyes, and uttered only three words. "Long Branch. Fight." She turned her back on him without another word and marched off with an angry twirl of her skirts.

It took Matt a few minutes, sitting on the edge of the cot with his head in his hands, before the room stopped rotating enough for him to pull his boots back on and make his way over to the Long Branch. He didn't feel the need to hurry; if it had been anything truly serious, Kitty would have been worried or panicked, not angry. He found what he expected: two oldtimers in rough prospecting clothing going at it with their fists. The saloon was busted up some but nothing like he'd seen it during major brawls. In no mood to put up with anyone's shenanigans, Matt used his height and brute strength to pull them apart. "Hey, now, break it up. What's going on here? Who started this?"

The smaller, wiry built one of the pair looked at the Marshal as though he'd asked a stupid question --- which, in his current state of mind, Matt had to admit he probably had --- and said, "You got eyes, ain'tcha? Him an' me's fightn'?"

The older, heavyset man responded, shaking his fists, "Lemme go, I'll rip 'im apart!"

It took the marshal quite a while and lots of confusing interruptions to figure out what the two were fighting over a woman with whom they had both been corresponding. The woman was supposedly coming out on the stage, but whom the woman had consented to marry was in dispute. Matt looked at Kitty in mute appeal. A look of concern crossed her face when she saw how tired and worn he looked but she wasn't quite ready to make up with him yet. Schooling her expression into its usual businesslike demeanor, she helped Matt sort it out. The two prospectors agreed to pay for the damages and then left the establishment.

Kitty gave Matt a dirty look and went back behind the bar to begin mopping up. Matt stood there awkwardly with his hands on his holster feeling like a heel. He wanted to say something, anything just so she would talk to him again, but he had no idea what would induce her to forgive him. "Uh…Kitty…"

She didn't look up from her cleaning. "Yeah, I know, Matt. I'm sure you had a good reason but I don't care to hear it." Kitty knew she was being cruel to him but she hardened her heart against his sad, wistful expression. He'd done this to her too many times and he just had to learn that promises, when made, had to be kept if they were to be worth anything.

"I was out chasing Job Snelling," he offered tentatively. He figured that, at least, would convince her it had been a legitimate call of duty. Snelling's dastardly deeds had been well publicized all over the territory. Matt searched her face for some sign of interest, some sign of forgiveness.

"Is he the one that killed those families in Mertilla?" He might have been imagining it, but he thought her voice had softened just a bit. She leaned in his direction unconsciously, waiting for him to answer. That was all the encouragement Matt needed.

"That's the one."

Her quick eyes noted the blood stain on his shirt sleeve and the way he was favoring it. She jerked her head toward it. "He do that to her arm?" Same tone, no warmer and no colder. She might have been asking about the weather or the price of whiskey. _But she _did_ notice and she wouldn't ask about it if she didn't care, would she? _he wondered. He wished he could think more clearly; it seemed important to be able to read the nuances in Kitty's voice and body language right now but he just couldn't concentrate. _Maybe I need more than sleep_.

"Yeah, but it…it's not as bad as it looks." Now why had he told her that? Doc had specifically told him it was a bad wound and he needed to get some sleep before he did anything else today. He took the risk, praying he'd read Kitty right, of approaching her at the bar. Truth be told, he needed to lean against it or he was going to fall down. _That's no way to impress her and she'd be even madder at me when I woke up!_

She didn't encourage him further but she didn't move away from him or slap him either. "Well, I suppose that means you'll be leaving right away to take him to Hays or some place." She allowed a tiny bit of the exasperation and disappointment she'd been feeling to color her voice.

"No. Newly and Festus are going to going to take him over to Fort Dodge for me." He deliberately left telling her that Judge Brooker had ordered him to do it that way out of concern for his health.

"Does that mean you're actually going to stay in town for an hour or two?" The shrewishness hadn't left her voice but there was something else, an element of coyness there now.

It struck at Matt's heart like an arrow; it pained him greatly to know how deeply he'd hurt her feelings but he was grateful to know the damage wasn't permanent, even if she was stringing him along now in order to get some of her own back. "Look…Kitty, let's just start this thing all over again. How about dinner tonight?"

"I'll think about it!" She turned her back on him once more to indicate that the conversation was over. Matt watched the rigid muscles in her shoulders relax and knew she was about to give in. He wisely kept the grin off of his face until she turned back to him saying, "All right." Her voice softened to its normal dulcet quality. "But not at Delmonico's. I'll fix dinner here."

Matt couldn't help grinning. Oh, she was still plenty mad but he felt worlds better just knowing that eventually Kitty would forgive him and talk to him again. "Good. I better get some sleep." She raised her hand, a small helpless gesture, but he answered before she could speak. "Don't say it, I already know. I look terrible."

"Seven o'clock all right?" she asked.

Matt nodded, suppressed another cough. Nothing was going to keep him away this time. "I'll be there."

He barely made it back to the jail before yanking off his boots for the second time, carelessly tossing the holster aside, and collapsing on the cot. He never knew whether it was sleep or unconsciousness which took him.


	4. Chapter 4

**All characters are copyright to CBS, I'm just borrowing them.**

"_Particles of honesty_

_And tenderness entwined_

_Things with you are different now_

_And I can feel the strain_

_What is it that protects you from this pain?"_

**--** "Promises We Keep" performed by Eleanor McEvoy

**Chapter 4**

Matt never did get the sleep he craved. He'd been in his bed no more than half an hour before he was called upon to deal with the widow Pry being locked in Burke's new safe and the apprehension of the delinquent pie thief. He'd gotten tired of the child's behavior and, losing patience, had turned the boy over his knee to tan his hide. It had resulted in such an amazing change of attitude that when the boy's father finally showed up to claim him, he decided the treatment would benefit all of his out of control young'uns.

By then, it was nearly time for Matt to go to dinner with Kitty. He was still ruminating about what he would do about dinner since he didn't want to set her off and he still didn't feel like eating. A wash in cold water helped clear his head and a shave did wonders for his appearance. He decided it would have to do. He discovered that if he didn't exert himself too much and kept his breathing slow and even he wouldn't get the urge to cough.

Promptly at seven o'clock he climbed the back stairs to the Long Branch, went to Kitty's room, and knocked. He had a key he kept on a thin satin ribbon --- a gift from her several years ago --- but he didn't figure with her in the mood she'd been in lately that it was appropriate to use it tonight. No, he'd be better off behaving like a courting gentleman instead of her lover.

She opened the door after he'd waited only a minute or two and greeted him with a warm smile. "Matt, come in." He stood awkwardly, suddenly all hands and feet, in a room that seemed far too small for his masculine bulk. He felt as though he ought to have brought something for her, a peace offering perhaps. Matt had nothing to give but himself and his earnest regrets that he'd been the cause of her hurt feelings. "Oh, for heaven's sake, cowboy, make yourself at home. I won't bite," she added more gently. It was her way of saying she'd forgiven him and the closest she got to an apology for snubbing him earlier.

"Thanks, Kitty." He took a long look at her as he seated himself at the table. She was wearing one of his favorite dresses, a satin confection one shade darker than her curls with some sort of nearly transparent netted material at the bodice. She wore simple jewelry with it, a gold locket which she'd told him once contained pictures of her parents and in her ears the freshwater pearls he'd brought her back from a trip to San Francisco. Her hair was held back by matching pearl combs and hung down her neck in loose ringlets the way he preferred it. "You look beautiful," he said. He wanted to say it more eloquently, to quote romantic poetry for her or something, but that just wasn't his way. Instead he smiled into her eyes, took her hand across the table, softly kissed it, and whispered, "I'm sorry."

Kitty was up from the table and behind him in a blur of movement. Matt thought he'd somehow managed to offend her again until he felt her arms around his neck and her cheek nestled against his silky curls. "Oh, Matt," she whispered back with tears glistening on her lashes, "it's all right." She kissed the top of his head and returned to her place at the table. "I really don't like being on the outs with you."

"I don't like disappointing you."

Nothing more needed said and they ate in companionable silence. Matt found himself hungry after all and ate with good appetite. Kitty's cooking, as usual, was excellent. He found himself daydreaming about always having one of her meals --- not to mention her other talents --- available to him exclusively when he came home from work. He sighed; it was yet another promise which would have to wait until he could guarantee it. In this case, he had no business contemplating more than a discrete relationship with her until he either laid aside the badge or found a way to keep disgruntled ex-prisoners from gunning for him. Unfortunately, they both knew the odds of him giving up being a US marshal or the likelihood of him being able to prevent attempts on their lives out of revenge.

By the time they had finished dinner, twilight had painted the streets of Dodge in deep purple shadow. The lamplighter was going about igniting the gas lamps with his torch and the people had begun drifting in for a night's pleasure after a hard day's work. It was too early yet for them to have become rowdy in their pursuits which made it a pleasurable evening from Matt's point of view. He figured he wouldn't need to make rounds until later and it didn't look like there'd be much to do. He would be able to spend the rest of the evening in Kitty's arms. That was an agreeable prospect for him.

Kitty lit the lamp above the table. It cast a pleasant green glow in the immediate vicinity and made soft shadows in the corners of the room. Matt set his napkin aside. He hoped Kitty hadn't noticed he didn't eat as much as usual; the food had been pleasant enough but he still felt rather strange and didn't wish to complicate the evening with something as untoward as his innards acting up. "Kitty, that's the best meal I ever ate." Matt meant it, too. Festus' cooking might keep a man from starving but it got monotonous after a while and it certainly wasn't very tasty at times.

"Well, thank you very much." A blush tinted Kitty's cheeks. Matt wasn't normally this demonstrative and it pleased her that he valued their relationship so highly. She'd noticed his subtle attempts to hide that cough of his and Kitty thought she had just the remedy for it, one he'd take with no argument. "How about a little brandy?" She smiled and didn't wait for him to answer before she began pouring. "Napoleon, 1837." They stood together, glasses in hand, not quite embracing, and Kitty smiled as she said, "Well, here's to a quiet evening with no interruptions." The soft clinking of glasses echoed musically n the room.

Before either of them could take their first sip, however, they were interrupted by a scream from downstairs and the sound of breaking glass. She and Matt looked at each other, shrugged, and took a sip of the brandy. Their laughter was forced this time but they ignored the ruckus from downstairs. A second louder scream and more breaking glass carried to them from downstairs. Matt set down his glass and began heading toward the door. Kitty placed a restraining hand on his shoulder, mindful of his injury, and set her glass down two. Gently, she pushed Matt back into his chair. Tired as he was, he offered no real resistance. "Not this time," she chided. "You're just going to stay right here. If it's anything less than a murder I'll take care of it myself." She flounced out the door and slammed it shut as if by sheer force she could contain the marshal.

Matt admitted to himself he really was in no condition to break up a fight now. Fatigue dragged at his senses and he dropped the façade he'd maintained for Kitty's sake. The brandy did soothe his raw throat and stifle the cough. He sighed and took another sip. His eyes were losing focus. Matt shook his head to clear his vision; that had been a bad idea because it started the room rotating. He had every intention of only sitting on Kitty's bed, where he'd be more comfortable, until she returned but the darkness he'd been fighting rose up to meet him and he fell over backwards on the pillows.

Kitty hadn't gone far. The door to her suite opened out onto a balcony which overlooked most of the Long Branch's floor. Below she could see a several of the locals drinking their beers and watching the spectacle of the two prospectors Matt had caught fighting earlier throwing beer glasses against the wall as they drunkenly belted out "Down in the Valley". Kitty's lips pursed in disapproval as she wondered why on earth both Sam and the saloon girl were letting the two get away with it. They noticed her watching and momentarily stopped their antics, waiting to see what the proprietress would do next. With a disgusted wave of her hand, she turned away from the balcony and went back into her suite.

The fire had burned low, leaving the room a bit chill. Kitty closed the door softly behind her. "Well, it wasn't anything, Matt," she said. "Just those old prospectors having…" She stopped mid sentence when she realized Matt was no longer sitting where she'd left him. A glance around the room revealed him sprawled across her bed, apparently sound asleep. "…a little fun," she finished as the irritation and frustration began to build within her. She _had_ planned on him ending up in her bed but sleeping wasn't the activity she'd had in mind, at least not right away.

Standing at the foot of her bed, gazing at the big man sleeping there, Kitty fought a war within herself. Pity, compassion, and love battled with irritation, frustration, and a feeling she'd been somehow jilted. The harder emotions won. In a fit of pique, she grabbed a large porcelain soup tureen and sent it crashing to the floor. Matt flinched in his sleep but didn't wake. Truly angry now, Kitty left the room and with a loud slamming of the door.

The patrons took one look at her face as she came downstairs and immediately ceased their carousing. They hastily put the table upright and dusted it off with their shirt sleeves. Both of them scuttled to the bar and came back with full beer mugs. "Buy you a drink, Miss Kitty?" With a bittersweet smile, she took both mugs and then upended them on the drunkards' heads. As she began to push the batwing doors open, she heard Sam the bartender calling to her.

"Miss Kitty?"

"What?" The edge in her voice just dared anyone to cross her and boded ill for anyone who was foolish enough to do so.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked, concerned. He'd seen the marshal go up to visit with her and thought it odd that she would come back down alone. Usually the two of them stayed in her suite for most of the night.

"Why?" she demanded. Sam was a good employee but if he didn't let her alone, he'd find out just how much said about a redhead in bad temper was actually true!

"Sam looked uncomfortable. "Well, it's getting late and you could be…molested."

A high, brittle laugh escaped. "Really?" she said and pushed her way out onto Front Street.

Sam looked thoughtfully at Kitty's disappearing back and the up in the direction of her suite and wondered what the marshal had done to make her mad _this_ time.


	5. Chapter 5

**All characters are copyright to CBS, I'm just borrowing them.**

"_With the days that lie ahead me_

_I'm hungry to remain_

_Still I know it's best to go_

'_cause nothing's going to change_

_Eyes that held so much for me_

_Are holding things from me now_

_Like the harmonies_

_That life will not allow"_

**-- **"Promises We Keep" by Eleanor McEvoy

**Chapter 5**

Kitty stayed out longer than she had intended. In spite of Sam's fears, no one bothered her. It seemed to be one of those rare nights when Dodge City was truly quiescent. She had walked the entire length of Front Street twice and then spent time on the edge of town staring out at the cold moon and diamond stars which gilded the prairie with stark blackness and brilliant silver.

The wind blowing in off the prairie eventually cooled her temper as much as it did her body. She realized she'd left her rooms without even a wrap. Kitty headed back to the Long Branch. The saloon itself was locked tight, its windows dark. She let herself in up the back stairs and quietly opened the door to her suite.

The fire had banked down to sullen coals and the air was almost as frigid as it had been outside. It startled her to see the marshal still sprawled across her bed. She had expected him to awaken from his nap and either finish his rounds or make his way back to his cot at the jail. Matt rarely stayed this late, especially if there was a chance someone might discover them. "Matt?" she called. The big man stirred restlessly in response to her voice but didn't wake.

That was unusual; she could usually wake him, even if he was tired, just by calling his name. She sat down on the edge of the bed beside him and studied his face. Even in repose, the marshal's face held a grimace; he appeared to be in some discomfort or pain and a fine sheen of sweat dampened his curls. Kitty tenderly brushed a hand against his cheek; it was hot to the touch.

"Ah, Matt," she cried softly, full of remorse for her temperamental outburst earlier in the evening. Sighing, she got up and restocked the wood in the fireplace. When the room began to feel warmer, she returned her attention to Matt. Gently, she removed his boots and arranged him in a more comfortable position on the bed before covering him with a thick quilt she'd warmed beside the fire. Matt coughed in his sleep and muttered something incoherent. Not knowing what else to do, she patted his arm and whispered, "You just rest, cowboy. I'm going to go get Doc."

She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and crept downstairs. As she reached the foot of the stairs, the door to Sam's room opened. She heard the clicking sound of the safety being engaged on a shotgun and the bartender's scarred face split into a relieved grin. "Miss Kitty, you're back from your walk, safe and sound."

"I'm going back out," she told him, hearing the questioning note in Sam's voice, "but I won't be long. You can go back to bed, Sam." She was grateful for his loyalty and protectiveness, but she didn't need him knowing the nature of her errand. One of the reasons she'd hired Sam was for his tight lipped nature; he wouldn't talk, but there were plenty of others that would if they found out she had the marshal upstairs in her rooms. She didn't care what the citizens of Dodge City thought of _her_, but she did care what they thought about Matt. It was true most of them knew she was the marshal's "woman", but the upstanding citizens were willing to ignore what Kitty did for a living as long as the two of them were discrete.

This situation was anything but discrete and it was probably going to stay that way for a while. Concern for Matt's condition put all other considerations aside as she climbed the stairs to Doc's office. Kitty was relieved to see that in spite of the lateness of the hour, an oil lamp still burned in the window. Tentatively, she knocked on the door.

"Unless you're bleedin' to death, go away! I've gone to bed," the cantankerous old sawbones answered her knock. She and Doc had been friends a long time so Kitty didn't take the raillery personally. She ignored him and let herself in. Doc, as usual, was bent over his books at the desk studying them as he often did at night. Kitty noted, however, that the elderly man wore nothing but slippers and a nightshift. He hadn't been exaggerating when he said he'd gone to bed. He waved irritably without looking up and said, "Seeing as how's you've invited yourself in, you might as well tell me what the problem is."

"Curly," Kitty said, using the nickname to get his attention, "Matt needs you."

Doc Adams immediately dropped all pretenses of being irritated by the interruption. "Kitty, I didn't know it was you. What's the matter? I didn't hear any gunshots."

Kitty twisted a fold of her skirts in her hand and shook her head. "Nothing like that. Matt just kinda…collapsed…after dinner. I knew he was tired and I thought he was sleeping, but he's fevered now and I can't wake him up. This is all my fault, Doc," she confessed. "I…I pushed him too hard. I was so danged mad about that missed picnic that I didn't see…"

"It's not your fault, Kitty," Doc said quietly as he closed his book. He sighed, swiped at his mustache with his hand, and then wiped at an imaginary spot on his spectacles with his nightshirt. "I saw him after Snelling attacked him and I missed it too."

That admission from Doc shocked Kitty out of her own self recriminations. "What did _you_ have to be mad at Matt about?"

"Well, what do you _think_ I was mad at him about, Kitty?!" Doc blustered. "That young buck needs to learn himself how to treat womenfolk proper. He certainly can't get away with standing you up all the time." In one of the mercurial switches of mood for which he was known, Doc's voice softened. "Matt's been burning both ends of the candle for quite a while now. I'm not surprised it's finally caught him. Give me a few minutes to get dressed and I'll be there directly."

Touched by the manner in which Doc had been ready to defend her, Kitty put a slender hand on the old man's arm. "Thanks, Doc. He's upstairs in my suite." The kindly doctor's eyebrows raised at that bit of information and he tossed the redheaded proprietress a speculative look. More than once after Matt had been banged up in a fight, he had backed discretely out of the room to give the two lovers privacy. Kitty caught the look and stared Doc Adams down. "Fully clothed, I might add." She couldn't quite keep the disgust and frustration out of her voice.

Doc Adams chuckled. "You go back and sit with him. I'll be up as soon as I can."

Her guilt salved by the knowledge that Doc Adams had championed her and that he had also been too hard on their friend, Kitty returned to her suite. Matt had thrown off the quilt and was tossing his head restlessly. "Kitty…" he called hoarsely. "Kitty?"

She went to him, lovingly replaced the quilt and tucked it securely around him to keep off the cold. Her deft fingers stroked the sweat matted hair out of his eyes, worked at soothing away the knots at the temple. "Right here, Matt."

It was almost too much effort, but he willed himself to grab her hand. "Don't leave me, Kitty."

The desperate strength with which Matt's long fingered, work roughened hand held hers frightened her. _Is he really afraid I'll leave one of these days? Am I that important to him? Or is he just afraid of being alone right now?_ She'd seen his nightmares and could understand if his request referred to the latter situation but he had never, in their seventeen year relationship, told Kitty he wanted her by his side for always. In fact, there had been a few times of late when he'd bluntly told her he thought she would be better off with someone else, someone whose first love wasn't a badge.

She couldn't tell now whether or not the declaration was in earnest or the result of delirium. It didn't matter, really. They could discuss it when he was well, if he even remembered telling her that. "Don't you worry, Matt," she told him, "I'm not going anywhere."

Kitty breathed a sigh of relief when she heard Doc's familiar tread coming up the back stairs about fifteen minutes later. Matt's restlessness had increased until it was all she could do to keep him in the bed. His blue eyes, hazy with fever, were focused on something not in the room. "I don't like the sound of that cough," Doc said as he approached. "Well, son, let's see what kind of scrape you've gotten yourself into this time."

With gentle and compassionate hands Doc Adams examined the lawman. It alarmed him that Matt didn't respond to his presence. Lightly slapping Matt's cheeks in an attempt to bring him back to consciousness produced no result nor did rough stimulation against the breast bone. He dug out his pocket watch and monitored Matt's pulse. It was much faster than it should have been. "Kitty, could you bring that lamp for me? I want to have a look at his eyes and throat, if he'll allow it."

"He'd better," she muttered as she lit the lamp for Doc and placed it on the bedside table. Kitty half hoped Matt would fight him on this one, as it would mean he wasn't as badly off as he looked.

Doc took out one of his reflectors and angled the light so that he could monitor the iris' response. Matt didn't like having the light redirected into his eyes. He squeezed them tightly closed and batted feebly at Doc's hand. "The light…it hurts…let me be, I just wanna sleep," he mumbled. "So tired…"

"Not just yet, Matt," Doc responded, "but I promise I'll let you rest soon." He turned the wick to its lowest and shielded the lamp so that the light wouldn't bother his patient. Then the doctor reached into his bag and brought out his stethoscope, the bell of which he placed against Matt's chest. It was a new contraption, biaural instead of the standard single wooden tube, and made of a substance called rubber. Kitty and Festus had ordered it for him as a birthday gift several months ago.

He didn't like what he heard; the marshal's heart labored to keep up with the demands of his overtaxed body and beat in irregular rushes and spurts. The lungs sounded no better; he counted it lucky that the right one was clear but three of the lobes on the left were filled with fluid. Sighing, he removed the earpieces from his ears and straightened.

"It's bad, Doc, isn't it?" Kitty asked quietly.

"Matt's likely got pneumonia. It might have started as a catarrh or a touch of the grippe but it's got a good hold on him now. Matt's not a young man any more. His body can't take this type of prolonged abuse like it used to."

"Try telling _him_ that," Kitty responded with a trace of her usual asperity.

"Oh, I have," Doc said. "He's just too blamed stubborn to listen!" He began rummaging in his bag, selecting vials and laying out a syringe.

"What are you going to do for him?"

Doc Adams considered his options for a moment before responding. He chose his next words carefully because he didn't want her to give up hope. "I've got a few things I can try, but there's not much can be done for 'im except keep 'im warm, quiet, and comfortable. The main thing is to keep the pneumonia from spreading to both lungs. If we can accomplish that, he's got a fair chance of recovery."

Kitty heard the doubt in his voice. "Don't sugar coat it, Doc. What exactly are Matt's chances?" She had to ask, had to know what she was facing. The thought of losing Matt to exhaustion of all things didn't bear thinking about. She could accept the fact that some day he might be gunned down but not that something as simple as a catarrh could take him away from her. _Not this way, please, _she prayed to whoever might be listening. _Please, just give us a bit more time._

"Don't fret, Kitty. You know I'll do my best for him. I've given him an injection of atropine sulphate to stabilize his heart and hopefully dry up some of the fluid in his lungs," Doc Adams explained, "and we'll dose him well with laudanum for the pain and the cough. You already know what to do for the fever."

Kitty nodded. "Lukewarm compresses."

"Good girl," Doc Adams responded, his voice warm with approval. He wearily accepted the glass of whiskey she thrust into his hands. Sinking onto the chair Kitty had pulled up for him, he took a sip. "The rest is up to Matt. I just wish I'd caught this sooner. I _should_ have."

She sighed and poured herself a generous measure. "So do I, Curly, so do I." Kitty was referring to her own involvement in this fiasco. If only she hadn't been so absorbed in making him pay for having missed their picnic date! _I ought to have forgiven Matt on the spot and sent him off to bed. I knew he wasn't feeling right._

Doc finished his whiskey, closed up his bag, and headed for the door. "I've left the bottle of laudanum. You can give him another dose if he becomes restless or combative. Don't hesitate to come get me if anything changes." He paused, put a hand on her shoulder. "Don't blame yourself for this, Kitty. Matt does what Matt does. We both know that."

"I know," she said. "Can't win for losing with that stubborn, foolish cowboy sometimes." Kitty planted a chaste kiss on Doc Adams' cheek. "Good night."

He tipped his crumpled black hat to her. "Good night, Miss Kitty."

After shutting the door and securing it for the night, she decided she may as well get ready for bed…not that she would be sleeping much, but if she didn't get out of the damned corsets and bustle they were going to drive her crazy. Kitty sat in the chair at the bedside and began letting her hair down for the night. She'd just finished her night time routine when she heard the marshal calling her name.

"Right here, Matt," she reassured him, grasping one of his hands so that he could at least feel her presence. That hand in hers felt uncharacteristically frail, strengthless. "Damnit, cowboy, don't you even think of leaving me!" she cried and laid her head against his chest.


	6. Chapter 6

**All characters are copyright to CBS, I'm just borrowing them.**

"_Two hearts that shouldn't_

_Talk to each other become close_

_In a town much like a prison cell_

"_People speak our names_

_On the street in hushed tones_

_Oh the stories they'd tell_

_If anyone would listen" _

**-- **"Promises" by Megadeth

**Chapter 6**

A pale ray of early morning sunlight coursing through the window, whose curtains Kitty had forgotten to close, illuminated a touching tableau as Doc Adams let himself into Kitty's suite from the back stairs the next morning. Her head resting on Matt's shoulder and her long red curls spilling in wild abandon across the coverlet, Kitty had fallen asleep at the bedside. One of Matt's hands twined in the tresses at the back of her head; the other she clasped tightly in her own. Doc could see the tracks where tears had dried unnoticed on her cheeks and knew the night had been a hard one for her.

Matt lie so still and unmoving that Doc feared the worst. He took his spectacles out of his coat pocket, put them on, and breathed a sigh of relief when he detected the slight rise and fall of Matt's chest which meant life…and hope. Not wishing to wake her abruptly, Doc laid a gentle hand on Kitty's shoulder. "Good morning, Kitty," he said quietly.

Yawning, Kitty carefully disengaged Matt's hand from her hair and leaned back in the chair. She kept a tight hold on the hand she'd captured with hers. "Well, it's a morning anyway," she responded with a wavering smile. She rose and gestured for Doc to take her place. "I'll get a pot of coffee going."

"I'd like that, Kitty." Once more he got what he need out of his bag, doused his hands in rubbing alcohol, and conducted his examination. Matt seemed no better off than he had been last night; the fever was higher and his breathing came in short, shallow gasps. He disliked the blue ashen tint to the lawman's skin. The big man's heart sounded slightly stronger but it still struggled. Doc shook his head, debating whether another injection would help or if he ought to augment the previous treatment with digitalis or quinine. "How has he been? Has he had anything?"

Kitty shook her head as she handed Doc one of the plain white coffee cups she carried. "A few spoonfuls of brandy to help with the cough, but it didn't stay down. Matt wouldn't even take water after that." Her slender fingers wrapped around her own cup as she savored the warmth sinking into her stiffened hands. Her expression was troubled. "The fever spiked in the early hours of the morning. Matt got real restless, kept trying to leave, wanting me to roust Festus and Newly out of their beds so he could talk to them." A trace of grim satisfaction crept into her voice. "So I dosed him good with laudanum like you said. He's been quiet for the last hour."

Doc Adams finished his coffee and set the mug down on the table next to the bed. He swiped a hand over his mustache and chewed at it thoughtfully. "Matt probably couldn't tolerate the quinine, then. We'll try digitalis and see if that helps. I need to get that heart of his stabilized before…" He knew it was unprofessional but he couldn't finish that sentence. So much depended on chance rather than skill --- on the hope that the digitalis would work, that the fever itself wouldn't kill Matt, that his lungs wouldn't give out.

"Matt's strong," Kitty said firmly, denying the words Doc hadn't had the heart to utter. "He'll make it. He damned well _better_," she muttered savagely.

"Kitty." Doc's eyes filled with compassion as he took in the dark smudges under her eyes, the rumpled nightdress, and the tear tracks still evident on her cheeks. They spoke volumes of her complete devotion to the man lying in that bed, a man Doc himself considered like a son. The last thing he wanted to do was cause more distress but he couldn't be less than honest with her. "We have to prepare ourselves ---"

She slammed the coffee cup down so hard it broke. Though tears sprang to her eyes, Kitty ignored the scalding liquid and resulting cuts. "No, Doc, don't say it. He _will _get better. You just do whatever you have to do to make that happen."

Appalled that she'd hurt herself, the stunned doctor could only nod mute acceptance. "You know I'll do the best I can for Matt to give him every chance of recovery," he assured her again. "He's as comfortable as I can make him. Why don't you let me look at that hand?"

"It's nothing," Kitty said, snatching the hand behind her back. _Matt always did say it was my big mouth and hot temper which kept getting me into trouble_. She idly wondered how many more things she'd end up breaking before this was over. _That lawman's enough to try the patience of a saint…and I'm no saint!_

"I'll be the judge of that." Doc grabbed at her wrist, catching her off guard, and gently forced the fingers open. The palm was red and blotchy with a blister across the base of the thumb but the cuts were superficial. "Why don't you have a bit of a wash and then let me put some salve on that burn? It'll do you a world of good. No, I don't want to hear any excuses," he said, shaking a finger at her. "I'll sit with Matt for a while."

Suddenly Kitty was acutely conscious of her state of dishabille. While she had absolutely no intention of allowing Matt to be bothered with visitors while he was in such bad shape, she knew they would come. The townspeople, worried about their marshal, would want to see him and reassure themselves. Burke, in particular, would find some way to insinuate himself into their confidence so that he could verify for himself that the marshal still lived. Kitty didn't want to deal with those people clothed only in her nightdress with the marshal in the same room. There would be rumors enough because Matt _was_ in her rooms; she didn't feel like giving the gossips more fuel for their wagging tongues. "Doc," she said, her hand on the door handle to the little washroom, "folks are gonna talk…"

Anger and challenge flashed in Doc Adams' eyes. "Oh they will, will they? And are they the ones with the diploma in medicine, that they know what's best for Marshal Dillon? I think not! Why, I can think of several medically sound reasons why the best place for him would be here. You're a competent nurse and your rooms are a damned sight warmer and cleaner than that dusty, drafty jail. Besides, I wouldn't risk moving him right now. It would seriously jeopardize any chance of Matt's recovery. No, you just let me handle the likes of Widow Pry and Burke. If either speaks one blamed word of untruth I'll…I'll sew their mouths shut!"

His outburst had the effect he had hoped for. Kitty burst into giggles and flashed him a genuine smile. "I believe you would! I won't be long," she told him as she gathered some clean clothing and then proceeded to follow the doctor's instructions.

By the time Kitty had washed up, changed back into decent clothing, and artfully applied make-up to hide the ravages of a sleepless night she felt much better. Matt might have played the odds too close this time, but he'd beat them. He always had. Meanwhile, she'd deal with the townsfolk's comments as she usually did, with a tight smile and a cold shoulder.

"Any improvement?" she asked Doc Adams as she came out of the washroom.

He smiled to see her looking somewhat restored and refreshed. In deference to the colder weather, Kitty had chosen a heavy dark blue plaid skirt with gold fringing and matched it with a cornflower blue blouse of watered silk. She was still fastening the topmost of the pearl buttons. "The hand?" Doc reminded her with a piercing look.

Kitty debated refusing him but the stubborn glint in his eyes, so rarely seen, convinced her to do otherwise. "Oh, all right! I don't suppose you'll leave me be until you get your way."

While Doc cleaned the cuts, salved the blisters, and bound it neatly in a clean bandage he answered her previous question. "I'd say so. The digitalis is starting to do its job. His heart beat is strong and steady. If we can get Matt's fever down and get some sustenance into him, we'll be in good shape." He patted the top of her hand. "There you go. I don't need to tell you to keep it clean and dry, do I?" The look Kitty gave him would have ignited matches. "No, I see I don't." Doc Adams began gathering up his instruments and placing them in his bag. "You mind that temper and tongue of yours," he cautioned as he left. "Let me take care of the rumor mill." The scowl on his face was directed at the town in general. "I meant what I said. I want Matt kept warm, quiet, and undisturbed. This is the best place for it."

Downstairs, Doc Adams was assailed by questions. "How's Matthew, Doc? I seed yesterdee that he was sickenin' for somethin'. I been powerful worrit 'bout ole Matthew."

"How long will Marshal Dillon be out of it?" Newly asked.

"I told him he needed to take better care of hisself," came Burke's strident voice, "but instead he had to give in to other unwholesome pursuits. Look where it's gotten him now. God help us with the marshal down."

"Burke, you shut your mouth," Doc's voice had a dangerous edge to it and Burke hastily backed away. "I don't want to hear another blasphemous word out of you."

"He's right about one thing, Doc," said Newly whose first concern, with Matt unable to fulfill his duties, was the town's safety. "This is going to cause trouble. We have two big herds of cattle coming through in the next three weeks and there was a wire to the marshal's office this morning saying the Whittacker gang is in the area."

"You boys'll just have to hold it together," Doc responded, "because unless you want to bury the Marshal my orders aren't negotiable. Matt will stay up _there_" he jerked his head in the direction of the Long Branch and Kitty's rooms "in _that_ bed until I say so and he's not to be disturbed."

"You ole scudder," Festus exploded, "always jawin' and flappin' yer lips without sayin' anythin' important. Ya still ain't answered my question. What's wrong with Matthew?"

He was used to Festus lighting into him whenever the opportunity presented itself but it had always been nothing but good natured jesting. The intensity behind the deputy marshal's verbal scorching wounded him. "Don't get your britches in a knot," Doc Adams said testily, "I was getting to that." He sighed and fiddled with the handle on his bag as he tried to figure out how to break the news. Finally, deciding there was no gentle way to put it, he spoke. "Matt's suffering from exhaustion probably has pneumonia. It'll be a while before he recovers." The all heard the unspoken words hanging in the air: _if he ever does_.


	7. Chapter 7

**All characters are copyright to CBS, I'm just borrowing them.**

"_When I think about the turn my life has taken_

_I know it's because of you that I receive so many blessings_

_I had a home but no privacy; I didn't know a thing about my legacy_

_When I realized you were there for me, I called on your name and you came_

_And you did just what you said, for that I'll love you forever_

_You kept your word to me, for that I'll love you forever"_

**-- **"Promises" performed by India.Arie

**Author's Note:** Some of Matt's delirious ramblings are taken from the early radio episodes _Jaliscoe, Dodge City Killer _(also known as _Doc's Reward_ in the television series), _The Juniper Tree _and from the first season episodes _Helping Hands_. The dialogue is theirs, the actions attributed to the characters are all mine. Special thanks to Mary and Linda for providing help with choosing the right episodes and in providing or straightening out some of the scenes for which I had no access to references. Without them, this would have been a much poorer effort.

**Chapter 7**

Matt Dillon was lost in his own private hell.

As the darkness folded down over him, Matt was left alone with his memories. They circled around him like vultures, picking at old wounds until they were laid open to his conscience and he couldn't do anything else except face them.

_Matt had been marshal of Dodge City for only a few months when the incident with Jaliscoe occurred. He had been up all night trailing the cowboy, who was suspected of murdering homesteaders. It had been a fruitless effort. Tired, unhappy, and discouraged, he had headed to the Long Branch in order to track down the one viable lead he had left. Kitty, spotting him, had seen the uncharacteristically slumped shoulders and called out to him._

"_Oh," said Matt tiredly, "hiya, Kitty." He put on a small but genuine smile just for her._

_Kitty raised a ginger colored eyebrow. The young marshal had been finding more and more excuses to either drop by or end his rounds at the Long Branch when Kitty was working. "Business again, Matt?"_

_He had wished he could have answered in the negative, could have sat at her table all night basking in her beauty and allowing her to coax him into better spirits. Matt found himself resenting the other clients who claimed her attention. It didn't help his mood any. Feeling like a boy with his hand caught in the cookie jar, he nervously crumpled the brim of his Stetson in his big hands. He had the impression from her wary tone of voice, almost catty, that he'd forgotten something. "Well," he explained, "I was looking for Ben Rourke."_

"_Isn't here," Kitty responded with a careless toss of her head which sent coppery ringlets cascading down her back. Matt wasn't certain if she'd done it on purpose or not, but he liked it. She perched on the edge of the table, revealing long slender legs encased in net stockings, crossed her ankles and swung her feet. "He left about an hour ago; some of his boys came in after him." She stroked a fingertip across his broad shoulder, digging the nails in slightly. "Matt…I waited for you last night."_

_Weariness, accompanied by guilt as he realized just what he'd forgotten, chafed at him like a badly fitting saddle. He felt snared. "Kitty, I worked last night."_

"_All night?" He remembered the skepticism in her voice; she hadn't believed him. Only her eyes had given her concern away. She'd never seen him this way before, heartsick and defeated. He hadn't allowed it because he rarely showed emotion at all back then. Kitty had often needled him about being capable of feeling anything but duty._

"_Yeah." _

_The simple admission accompanied by his uncharacteristic moodiness had softened her. She simply hadn't the heart to keep needling him. Instead, she slid into his lap, arms loosely around Matt's neck, and held him. "What's the matter, Matt?" The softly spoken words were like a benediction or a release from his burdens. He'd leaned forward and rested his head on her breasts while she tenderly stroked the dark brown curls. "There's a bad feeling in the air, Matt. Something's going to happen. What is it?"_

_They'd talked quietly for a while of the people moving through the town, of the rumor that the soldiers were going to pull out of the city and back to Fort Dodge, of the various schemes Kitty had overheard from her clients. Finally Matt had said, for Kitty's ears only, "I don't have any way of stopping it." She'd understood his helplessness, his sense of failure, the feeling he'd been derelict in his duties. There was one thing she could do about it, if he'd only accept the gift from her. Before she could offer, however, Matt had been called out onto Front Street to diffuse a lynch mob._

_She'd called fearfully after him, "Be careful, Matt, you be careful, please!"_

Something in her voice…that had been the first time Matt had had any idea that she cared for him…and it had been the first time, later in the evening, that he'd sought her out again and she'd taken him to her bed. He could still feel the silkiness of her skin when he'd first touched it, soft and lightly scented with Tudor rose water.

"So soft," he murmured. "Kitty…Kitty, I need…" He cried out as he had that night, wanting her, and then those same soft hands were stroking his forehead, those same lips gently caressed his cheek. The coolness of her touch temporarily quenched the fire, soothing him, but the fever fed tortures of his conscience patiently awaited him in the darkness.

He hadn't learned until months later, when he'd made his first devastating mistake in their relationship, that she'd never taken another man to her bed again because her heart belonged to only one man, to him…US Marshal Matt Dillon.

His heavy conscience guided him unerringly to that fateful day.

"Wrong…I never meant…I didn't under…Kitty, I'm so sorry…."

_Doc's life hung in the balance, he thought stubbornly. That's why I did it. Doc needed… but the ruthless voice inside his head chided him, "Doc would rather have hanged than ask Kitty to…"_

"_I know, I know," he protested, whether in his mind or aloud, he no longer knew. "I was wrong. How could I…?" He drew in a deep shuddering breath and felt the guilt blanket him again, pulling him, driving him deeper into despair._

_It played out again in front of him as if in slow motion – Doc, accused of murdering a man who tried to prevent him from treating a patient, the angry townspeople threatening both of them when he'd refused to arrest the physician, the man who'd started stalking Doc, his desperate need to find out the stalker's intentions, and then – fatally – his wretched suggestion to Kitty._

_Matt didn't like being seen going upstairs in the Long Branch but there was nothing to be done about it. Stiff legged and stone faced, he'd climbed those stairs to knock on Kitty's door. She'd been wearing nothing but her petticoats, stockings, and a camisole. An attractive blush crept up from her throat to stain her cheeks. It touched him to see a woman who had worked in Kitty's profession still had such modesty, just one more reason why he knew he loved her so even then…and that made what he was about to ask that much more difficult. _

"_Ah…Matt…I was just getting ready for work. I wasn't expecting company."_

_He found himself staring at a point somewhere above her head, unable to meet her eyes, and clearing his throat awkwardly. Matt knew now what he had asked hurt her but at the time, he couldn't see any other way to do it. He'd justified it by telling himself it wasn't as though he were asking her to do anything against her nature. "About this trouble Doc's in, Kitty...I think you might be able to help."_

_As long as he lived he'd see that look on her face. The hurt, quickly concealed, the resignation as if she'd always expected some demeaning suggestion from him and had now received it, and the hard, poker faced mask that had slipped into place. He could still hear her voice too – hard, brittle, resigned, and somehow echoing every other saloon girl he'd ever heard. All of her uniqueness, all of her individuality had disappeared, leaving behind nothing more than what he was using her for – a receptacle for the brutish needs of cowboys on the trail. "Sure. I'd do anything for __**Doc.**__" He hadn't missed the emphasis she'd put on Doc's name either, nor its implication. She wouldn't be doing anything for him._

_Even as he said it, he knew he was making a mistake – maybe one that couldn't be forgiven and as quickly he tried to take it all back._

"_Maybe it's asking too much. Now, I doubt that he's a man to get drunk by himself or easily. And even drunk, I don't know if you can make him talk."_

_Kitty's voice dripped self loathing and hatred. "Leave that to me, Matt. Like I said, I'll do anything for Doc."_

_The next day, she'd sought Matt alone at the jail. She'd come no further than the doorway. The distance hurt him like a physical blow. Her voice had been cold, impersonal. "I got the information you needed. I didn't need to sleep with him to do it, either. He was a braggart and an easy drunk, spilled his guts after the third whiskey. Matt…there's been no one but you since the first night we were together. There never will be."_

Matt knew then he'd seriously wronged her. It had been a long time before the two of them were at ease with one another again.

"My dearest Kitty," Matt murmured in his delirium, "you were never a whore, common or otherwise. I'm so sorry, Kit! I'm sorry…."

Other times, other images, people he'd failed crowded him, the faces smothering him with the weight of their accusations.

Steve Elser, who he'd tried to help and wound up killing. Steve was standing there shouting at him.

"_Nobody's runnin' me out. Nobody's kickin' me around no more. I've been putting off this time, but now I'm glad it's here. I don't need no help from you. I don't need nobody." A bullet blasted into Matt's side; his hand hadn't even been anywhere near his holster because he hadn't expected Elser to shoot him._

_A cold fury had consumed him, blocking out all else including the pain from his wound. "Don't shoot!" he'd growled at the cowboys. "He's mine!" Matt didn't even remember making the killing shot._

That had been one of only a dozen times in his entire career that Matt had allowed personal emotions to govern the use of his revolver. He had always considered those times a deep personal failing, a failure to uphold the law as well as a failure of ethics. He'd long ago stopped visiting Boot Hill regularly, but when he did walk there these days, Steve Elser's grave was one at which he always paused…and remembered.

_Steve whirled away, blown into a cloud of dust only to be replaced by Etta Stone. _

"_Killed my man, you did, Dillon, hung him. Now you and your woman are going to see what it was like." The hatred on her face burned in his throat, and he could see her and her sons, lying dead in the farmyard – his fault. _

_And that Judge – the one who'd tried to hang Kitty, was gaveling for order, pounding, pounding, pounding on his bench – as if he were trying to pound his gavel right through Matt's throbbing head._

Again he felt the cool fingers on his face, caressing his cheeks and wiping a cool cloth over his forehead. Kitty's voice whispered to him in snatches through the nightmares, "Cowboy…live for me…love… not time yet…"

He wanted to do something about the tears --- his Kitty shouldn't be crying, and him the cause yet again --- but then Mace Gore and Jude Bonner were holding onto his legs and pulling down on him as the noose around his neck tightened. He gasped for breath, his chest laboring, the two dead men pulling, laughing, howling… howling…

Toward morning, Matt returned to consciousness with a deep shuddering sigh. The fever still held him but his mind was clear. He saw, through the window and as though from a great distance, a half moon rising through the window. A single sharp yapping bark broke the silence. Another answered, followed by yet another --- tentative questioning cries which escalated into long quavering howls. The yammering rose and fell again; it was a familiar sound to him as coyotes had kept him company on the trail many times. Kitty, asleep on his shoulder, shuddered and lifted her head. She gave a little scream as the eerie sound rose again out on the plains. Matt felt her hand holding his clasp it tighter.

His throat felt like someone had taken a cattle brand to it and his brain acted like it was wrapped in cotton, but he managed to twine the other hand in her curls and whisper, "Just a pack of coyotes, Kit, don't fret." Matt wanted to say more --- he had so much more that needed said --- but a coughing fit prevented him from doing so.

Kitty pressed a spoon to his lips. "Here, Matt, take some brandy. It'll help with the cough." He managed to swallow it but the fire in his stomach turned into an upward spiral, one he just hadn't the strength to fight. Helpless, Matt was grateful for the strength and love in Kitty's touch. She held him while he retched and then cleaned him up and settled him back against the pillows. The coolness of her touch as she stroked the hair back from his face soothed him.

He couldn't drink the water she offered him. "That's enough, Kitty," he said. "Just let me sleep and I'll be all right."

Matt had almost fallen asleep again when the sound of a gunshot on Front Street caused both of them to jump. Sick and disoriented as he was, Matt's lawman's instincts took over. He found himself struggling to sit up and reaching for a gun he no longer wore. His head swam as he forced himself into an upright position. Stars crowded out his vision and threatened to send him back to the darkness. He fought it, groped around for his boots. "Where's my gun, Kitty?"

"Now, you just hold it right there, Matthew Dillon!" Kitty exploded. "Where the blazes do you think you're going?"

"The town… I've got to…Dodge is my responsibil…" Another fit of coughing bent him nearly double; he wrapped both arms around his ribs in an effort to stop the pain and get a deeper breath. He felt like he was going to be sick again.

"No." Kitty's voice was gentle but firm. "Doc said you needed to stay in bed and that's where you're gonna stay." If he had been at full strength, there would have been no way she could have gotten the big man back to bed, but Matt didn't have the fortitude to resist her.

"Kitty," he said desperately, "I've gotta…"

The fire in her eyes matched her hair. She put both hands on her hips and stared him down. "No, you don't 'gotta'. Let Festus and Newly take care of it." She cocked her head, listening. "It's quiet now anyhow. Back to bed with you."

He sighed heavily, wanting to give in to her, wanting nothing more than to sink back into the feather bed and the comfort of her arms. His sense of duty wouldn't let him. "I haveta talk to Festus and Newly…"

"Matt, that stupid sense of honor of yours is gonna get you killed if you don't get back in that bed and stay there!" Kitty stomped her feet, furious with him. "I'm not going to allow it." The tears coursed down her cheeks, unnoticed. "If you're gonna get yourself killed, you **do not** get to do it while I'm watching over you. Take this." She shoved a small glass with a measured dose of laudanum at him.

Stunned by this emotional firestorm, Matt found himself obeying her before he'd even thought about it. As the laudanum induced lassitude began to overtake him, he thought he remembered what he wanted most to say to her. _"I love you, Kitty. I always have."_

Had he been able to say that aloud? He didn't know.

He had been told that a man getting ready to die notices changes heralding the approach of death. The body gets ready. One by one the active functions cease until the force of life becomes a downward vortex into which a man's soul is drawn. Every cell in Matt's body was seared through with the fierce, burning power of the fever. He struggled against the vortex, searching for an anchor. _She wasn't there._ Unreasoning terror swept over him. _She wasn't there --- something had spirited her away --- he would never see her again._ "Kitty," he called. "Kitty, don't leave me."

The laudanum and the fever dragged him back down into the darkness he was too weak and tired to fight any longer.

_A sweeter voice --- not Kitty's, as it has a more motherly tone --- spoke from the mists which had settled over his mind. "I had me a man once, Matt. I traded him for a bottle of brandy."_

_Brandy, that had been her name. He recalled that she'd been the madam for one of the more upscale bawdy houses during his early days in Dodge City. She'd been his confidante for some of the nastier things, things he wanted to shield Kitty from at all costs, about his job. "Don't ever hurt a person, Matt. You never get through paying for it."_

But he had. People associated with Matt Dillon got hurt. That was as real as the badge he wore. Matt had always thought that he'd paid for it with his solitary nature and facing those dangers himself so that his friends wouldn't have to. It was one of the reasons he had never had a family with Kitty. Now, however, he wondered just who it was being made to pay for his perceived shortcomings.

"Kitty…Kitty, I never meant to…to deny you…a life with me…." The knowledge of what he'd done rested so heavily on his heart. It was so difficult to breathe, struggling between one heartbeat and the next. "I'm…I'm gettin' awful tired…."

Matt was distantly aware of two trusted voices talking above him in snatches.

"…can give him anything else…." Doc's voice, worried and frustrated.

"…something you can do…can't let him go …." Kitty's voice, teary and despairing.

He wished he could touch her and tell her he wasn't going anywhere, that he'd make everything right between them. The light began to fade along with the sounds. _Was this what it felt like to die? Is that what was happening?_

Strong, sure hands adjusted the pillows and propped him up in a half sitting position. He could breathe more easily now, though it still felt like his heart was trying to beat its way out of his ribcage. "Here, son, this'll help." A cup was held to Matt's lips and he swallowed the bitter dose. "…a mix of quinine and aconite…last hope…" Doc, talking to Kitty. "…hold him…give some comfort…won't hurt anything now…."

He felt the mattress shifting as she sat down and settled him into her arms. Her small hands smoothed the hair out of his eyes and caressed his cheek. "Sleep, Matt," the beloved voice whispered in his ear. "It's all right to let go, Matt. I'll…I'll understand."

That was all Matt needed from her. He let go.


	8. Chapter 8

**All characters are copyright to CBS, I'm just borrowing them.**

"_Promises given_

_And promises broken_

_Words stain my lips_

_Just like blood on my hands_

"_And words are like poison_

_That sinks down inside you_

_And some things you do_

_You just don't understand_

"_I offer no reason_

_I ask for no pity_

_I make no excuse_

_For the way that I am"_

**-- **"Promises" by Lyle Lovett

**Chapter 8**

Most of the townspeople in Dodge City reluctantly accepted the fact that their marshal's grave condition required him to be in Kitty's care. Doc Adams had, as promised, quelled the worst of the gossipmongers with a few choice words of his own. In response to concerns about continued enforcement of the law, Festus and Newly had taken up the habit of appearing more often on Front Street, armed and wearing their badges. In spite of their efforts, a palpable aura of unease had settled over the town. It was as though everyone expected trouble but no one knew quite what form it would take or when it was coming.

Festus squinted as his hazel eyes scanned over the people walking along Front Street. His whiskered face wore a troubled expression. "Plumb peculiar," he commented to Newly. "There's folks is wearing guns now what got no more business carryin' 'em than I'd have marryin' my mule."

"Don't let Doc catch you saying that," Newly laughed, giving the hill man a good natured clout. "He'll never let you hear the end of it."

"That ole scudder," Festus muttered with a scowl, though there was no real hostility in his words, "he don't know nothin' about nothin', always jawin' and carryin' on like a hound with a bee in its snout."

"Folks are scared," Newly said, commenting on Festus' earlier observation. "With the marshal down, I'd imagine they have reason to be."

"Sceered folks is apt to do sommat hare-brained," Festus predicted. "Let's keep an eye peeled for trouble a-brewin'."

The two of them finished their rounds and ended up, as they usually did, at the Long Branch. Old habits died hard, even though Doc Adams was usually too tired to talk and Kitty rarely came downstairs now. The saloon suffered a bit from the lack of her presence, but it was still one of the better establishments in town and most of the tables were filled. Both deputies, out of habit, scanned the patrons and mentally noted which were local and which were new in town. "Now _that's_ trouble," he said darkly, recognizing some of the more prominent townspeople and Burke at the center of the agitation. "We better find out what they're up to."

Burke's voice, querulous and demanding, carried to the deputies as they made their way across the saloon. "…ought to be sendin' for a new marshal, if you ask me. Marshal Dillon's dyin' and if we don't get the law in here, things are gonna go to hell in a hand basket."

Lathrop took a pull at his beer before he commented, "There's some sayin' the Marshal's already dead and Dodge is ripe for the pickin'. I've sold more guns to folk in the last week than I have in the past year."

Newly shook his head and said to Festus, "Time to put a stop to this before it causes some real trouble." Pointedly ignoring their protests, Newly pulled up a chair and inserted himself in the center of the group. "The Marshal's not dead and I don't want to hear any more talk like that."

"How would you know, boy?" Berke retorted. "No one's been allowed to see him but that…woman." That wasn't quite true. Kitty and Doc Adams had discovered that although Matt wasn't capable of making any decisions, he tended to rest more easily when he heard his deputies' voices. This had led to Doc amending his instructions about visitors and every evening either Newly or Festus went upstairs to quietly recite the day's events.

"Now you see here," Festus interrupted, "you're barking at a knot. I don't care fer your tone. You cain't talk about Miz Kitty like that."

"Leave off, Festus," Newly said, though he felt like punching Burke himself. "Doc would have told us if there was any change in Marshal Dillon's condition."

"Well, let's ask him then," Lathrop suggested. "Here he comes. Hey, Doc, come over here for a minute, would ya?"

"Evenin', Festus. Newly." The doctor nodded to the two deputies and then squared his shoulders in preparation for the confrontation he'd been anticipating for some time now. Trouble was, he didn't have the answer they wanted. "Make it fast," he said curtly. "I need to see to the Marshal."

"Well, it's the Marshal we want to ask you about," Burke said.

"Burke says he's dying," Lathrop volunteered.

Doc Adams' glare burned through the group before pinning itself on Burke. "What did I tell you about that blame fool mouth of yours? You just keep it shut and let me be the one to give out the medical opinions. The Marshal's _not_ dying." _Not yet_ _anyway_, he amended to himself. He swiped nervously at his mustache and continued, "Matt's doing as well as can be expected. At his age, living as he has, it takes a bit longer to shake off a serious illness. He'll be all right _if_ he's given the time to recover. Now if you'll excuse me?"

He kept his shoulders straight and his manner confident until he reached Kitty's rooms. Once she opened the door to admit him, Doc Adams allowed the weariness, worry, and defeat to show. His shoulders slumped as he sat down in the wing backed chair near the fire and gratefully accepted the cup of coffee Kitty offered him. "How's he been?"

"Talkative," Kitty said wryly with a tight smile. She suspected Doc Adams knew about some of the things which weighed so heavily on Matt's mind but didn't feel the need to invade his privacy any further than necessary. "Fever's down a bit but he's still delirious. He doesn't cough as much and he ate three or four spoonfuls of the broth with a little water. Maybe Matt's finally getting better."

"Kitty." Doc set his coffee cup down. "Sometimes these illnesses aren't just physical. Matt…well, he's getting tired. He's put in a lot of years of service for this territory and sacrificed a lot of his own needs in the line of duty. He may not…well, he may not feel like coming back to us. This may be the one way he can let go without feeling he's abandoning his obligations."

_What about me?_ Kitty wanted to shout. She already knew the answer from the things Matt had said in his delirium. Locked in the prison of his own recriminations, he thought he had lost her and unless she could somehow make him understand, make him _feel_ that she was still there, still waiting and always would be Kitty knew Doc Adam's words to be the truth. Matt _was_ tired and without the one thing that made it all worthwhile --- Kitty's presence --- he didn't have much reason for recovery. "I'm not about to give up," she said instead. "What can we do about it?"

"Well," said Doc, extracting his spectacles from his vest pocket, "let's have a look at him."

As Kitty rose to join him, she experienced a wave of vertigo. All the color left her face and if Doc hadn't caught her by the arm she would have fallen. "I'm fine, Curly, I'm fine," she insisted as he guided her back into a chair.

"My foot, you're fine! When's the last time you ate, young lady?" he asked sternly.

"I…I don't know," Kitty responded, honestly surprised. "Where are you going, Doc?"

Doc thrust his arms into his overcoat and then jammed his crumpled black hat onto his head. "To Delmonico's," he responded, shaking his finger at her, "and I expect you to eat every speck of food on that plate when I come back!"

When she was certain her legs would not give out on her, Kitty went back to Matt's bedside. Alone, without the implied need to be brave for a friend's sake, Kitty had to admit that Matt's condition was no better than it had been when he first collapsed. In spite of the warm blankets, he shivered so hard his teeth chattered. Much of the time he slept or at least, thought Kitty as she held those long, strong fingers entwined in hers, he was in some sort of unconsciousness. On the rare occasions when Matt roused from his sleep or coma, sometimes he looked at Kitty as though he knew her. More often he stared at her unknowing or disbelieving.

Sometimes he talked, as she had cryptically informed Doc earlier, and each fragment of conversation broke her heart anew. _So many burdens he's taken upon himself over the years. Had there been no joy among the sorrows, no sharing of those griefs?_ She knew the answer to that as well and knew those times for a mixed blessing, something Matt felt he had to keep discrete in order to protect it. She was at the center of those memories, when he cried out as he had during their lovemaking, those stolen intimate moments between one crisis and the next.

Kitty seated herself on the edge of the bed and leaned over him, examining his face. It was one of those times when Matt was still --- strained and listening with eyes half open. _Listening for trouble in the town_, she thought, marveling at his dedication. _Was he conscious at all? Or dreaming again?_

"Matt," she murmured in a low voice, "my dear cowboy, you've got to live for me, my love. It's not time yet." She'd whispered that to him so many times, a prayer begging to be answered. He responded with a soft sigh and relaxed into her touch as Kitty lovingly wiped his face with cool water. She liked to think that somewhere deep beneath the delirium he knew she was still there and would hold on.

"Kitty?" His voice sounded rough and raspy. The simple effort to form that single word left him sweating and gasping for breath. "Kitty…oh, Kitty, where are you? What have I done? What _have _I done? Kitty, my beloved…I love you. I always have."

Torn between ironic laughter and tears, Kitty stifled a sob. Now _he finally says what I've waited so many years to hear._ "I know, Matt," she told him. "I've always known, even when you behaved like it didn't matter and I wasn't worth a damn to you." Understanding that it was part of his job, she'd forgiven him those times long ago but she never dreamed he hadn't forgiven himself.

When Kitty heard Doc's tread on the back stairs, she felt such a strong sense of relief that she covered her face with her hands for a moment before getting up to let him in. Matt was tossing and muttering; he didn't respond to Doc Adams' calming voice. "You," Doc said to Kitty, stabbing a finger at the tray he'd set on the table, "sit and eat. I'll take care of Matt." She thought about arguing with him about it but the enticing smell of the food caused her stomach to give an embarrassing and clearly heard rumble.

He watched to make certain Kitty was going to obey his instructions and then examined the marshal. Matt shrank away from the light and refused to open his mouth. Sighing in exasperation, Doc said, "Kitty, give me a hand here when you're finished. Maybe he'll cooperate for you. He blamed sure isn't listening to me tonight!"

Laying aside her napkin, Kitty sat down again beside the marshal. With a calm but firm voice she coaxed Matt, drew him back from wherever his mind had wandered. "C'mon, Matt, let Doc do what he needs to do and then you can rest."

Obedient, almost lucid now, Matt let Doc examine his throat and look into his eyes. He looked his patient over closely, observing the rapid straggling rise and fall of Matt's chest as he struggled to breathe through dry parted lips. His eyes were closed now, closed against the intrusion and the pain. "He's a very sick man," Doc said with no pretense. "If we can get that fever down, the digitalis might do its work yet."

Deep in thought, Doc swiped at his mustache and yanked absently at his iron grey curls. "There's something we might try…it works for heat stroke, it might work for fever…." He explained what he wanted and Kitty found what was needed: a large basin full of water and some old, clean cotton sheets. With Kitty's help, they stripped the marshal of all his clothes and then covered him with the water soaked sheets.

For a while, it seemed as though Doc's idea might work. Although Matt protested both the wetness and the cold, it brought the fever down. His eyes, when they blearily focused on Kitty's worried face, recognized her. "Kitty…"

"No, Matt," she said. "Don't try to talk right now. Save your strength. You can tell me what's on your mind when you're feeling better."

He tossed his head in vehement denial of her words. "Kitty…Kitty, I never meant to…to deny you…a life with me…."

Alarmed, Kitty watched him struggling for breath. The bluish tint to his skin had deepened and the pauses between breaths became longer. Her eyes widened as the full impact of his words hit her. "You didn't, Matt," she said softly. "We'll talk about it later. You need to rest. Doc, he's not breathin' very well."

"I'm…I'm gettin' awful tired…."

"I don't think I can give him anything else," Doc said. "He's had as much digitalis as is safe. Any more will kill him for sure."

"There _has_ to be something else you can do," Kitty insisted, tears clouding her eyes. "I can't let him go. He's fought too hard…."

"I can make him a bit more comfortable," Doc said doubtfully. "Here, Kitty, help me get 'im up." With strong, sure hands Doc Adams stacked the pillows behind Matt's back and propped him up in a semi-reclining position. He was rewarded by a receding of the bluish color tinting Matt's lips and an easing of his breathing. The doctor reached into his bag and grabbed a powder and a glass vial of liquid, both of which he mixed into a glass and forced Matt to drink. "Here, son, this'll help."

"What did you give him?" Kitty asked. "I thought there was nothing more you could do medically."

"A mix of quinine and aconite," Doc explained. "It's my last hope. He'll either turn the corner sometime tonight…or we'll bury him in the morning."

Kitty's pained expression, quickly covered with her poker face, cut through the doctor like a knife. "Can I…will it hurt him any to hold him?"

"No…no, Kitty, I can't think why it would. You can hold him; it might give him some measure of comfort at least. You won't be hurting anything anyhow."

She curled up beside Matt on the bed and settled him into her arms. She cradled the shaggy head against her breasts as she stroked the hair out of his eyes and caressed his cheek. The words she spoke were for him alone. "Sleep, Matt. It's all right to let go, Matt. I'll…I'll understand."

Doc Adams settled back into his chair and prepared to keep a lonely vigil over the two lovers. He had no idea whether or not Matt would still be with them when the sun rose but he knew with deadly certainty that if Matt _did_ die it would only be a matter of time before Kitty lay beside him. The thought that he might lose both his friends, whom he held as dear as if they were his own children, was unbearable.

"C'mon, Matt," he whispered. "Don't you dare give up on me, damnit!"


	9. Chapter 9

**All characters are copyright to CBS, I'm just borrowing them.**

"_I've looked danger in the eye  
I'm not afraid to live or die  
But after all that I've been through  
I'd be afraid of losing you_

"I couldn't face a single day  
Without you in my life  
Your sweet embrace is all it takes  
To keep me satisfied"

**-- **"I'd Be Afraid of Losing You" by Aaron Tippin

**Chapter 9**

The storm system which had been hammering the mountains to the west finally boiled over the tall peaks to blanket the prairie in its first snow of the season. A dull twilight presided over Dodge City and cloaked it in an aura of quietude. Kitty ignored the weather; she was aware only of Matt, of the burning heat of his body as she held him in her arms. Toward morning, a distant part of her realized that the heat had decreased and that he had ceased tossing and muttering. Thinking death had finally ended his struggle, she could only be grateful that Matt had gone quietly in the arms of a loved one instead of in violence. "You can rest easy now," she whispered, "goodbye, my sweet, goodbye!"

The expected rending of soul from soul did not happen, however. Kitty's head dropped forward onto Matt's chest…and she heard the beloved heartbeat, slow and steady, beneath her cheek. Disbelieving, she sat up and placed her hand there. The soft rise and fall confirmed that Matt had survived the night. Offering up a prayer of thanks, she called out, "Doc! Hey, Doc! You're going to wanna see this…"

The startled physician, who had been dozing by the fire with his feet propped up on an ottoman, awakened with a snort and sat stiffly upright. His shoes thudded on the floorboards as they hit. "Huh? Whassa matter ---" He shook his head to clear it, fished for his spectacles in his vest pocket, and put them on. "What is it, Kitty?"

"Matt's still with us," she breathed, hardly daring to hope. "I think he's gonna be okay."

"Oh, is that so? Have you taken after Festus, then, and started practicin' medicine without a license? Let me have a look at 'im." Doc Adams' tone, in spite of the gruff words, was colored with pleasure. He clearly hadn't expected Matt to still be alive. His smile grew broader as he listened with his stethoscope to Matt's heart and lungs. "I do believe you're right, Miss Kitty. Why, I oughta let you do my doctorin' while I sit in a rockin' chair enjoying my retirement." He patted her on the arm as he put his instruments away. "Fever's down, heart's strong, and breathing's easier. He's sleeping naturally. When he wakes, he should be on the mend. Not out of the woods, mind you, but on the mend provided he stays put."

A tired smile lit Kitty's face. "Don't you worry, I'll be sure to keep him where he belongs. Shall I fix us some coffee?" She was already feeding kindling into the fireplace and swinging the small coffee pot on its tripod into the coals.

"I do believe I will. It's downright miserable out today."

Jangling spurs heralded Festus' approach as he knocked on Kitty's door. "You finish that coffee, Doc," she said. "I'll let him in, he probably just wants to tell Matt how the night went."

"Hmmph," muttered Doc Adams grumpily. "Blamed fool probably smelled the coffee brewing and decided to get hisself a free cup."

"Ornery old scudder," Festus responded, "jist gettin' crankier and crankier each day, ain't ya, ya ole quackety-quack. I didn't come for coffee, I wanted t' see about Matthew."

"Oh, here!" Doc Adams poured another cup and handed it to the deputy. "Might as well have some, seein' as you're hangin' around like a dog hopin' for a bone." The physician's words were softened by the rough affection he showed the hill man. "How is it out there today, Festus? Looks mighty nasty."

Festus took a healthy swig of the coffee and sighed contentedly. "Ah, now that does chase the chill off'n a body even if it ain't Haggen-style coffee. Whal, Doc, it's colder 'n' a…" When the physician glared at him, he glanced at Kitty and then reconsidered what he'd been about to say. "Whal, it's purty durned cold out, that's all. Snow's a few inches deep already. Ain't no one goin' nowhere if'n they don't have to today, no sir!" Some of the sparkle went out of those hazel eyes as they drifted toward Matt asleep in the bed. A softer expression replaced his usual stoic cheer. "How's ole Matthew doin'?"

"He seems a little stronger today, but he's still pretty sick." Kitty's face was worn and anxious. She'd lost weight. Standing there in her white lace nightgown belted with sky blue satin ribbon, she looked slim and childish. Her hair was loose on her shoulders, falling into her eyes. She brushed it out of her way in a weary gesture. "How are things in town, Festus?"

"Quieter 'n' a cat watchin' a mouse hole," Festus assured her. "Me an' Newly got thangs all taken care of. Most folks is on their best behavior, what with Matthew bein' so sick and all. That there herd we was 'spectin' came in right ahead of the storm. T'other ain't arrived yet. Might not get here a-tall with the weather like it is." He didn't mention that he and Newly had spotted the two men that the Whitacker gang generally sent ahead of them mixing with the drovers. Matt couldn't do anything about it in his current condition and there was no point in needlessly alarming Kitty. "We sure do miss ya downstairs in the evenin's, Miss Kitty," he added shyly. "Folks been askin' after ya."

"I was goin' to say somethin' to you about that, Kitty," Doc said drowsily from his corner. "Hard to get a word in edgewise with that blabbermouth deputy yakkin' away. Now that Matt's stable, I expect you to take some exercise, young lady. Half an hour a day, no less, _out_ of this room. Spend some time with your clients, go for a walk, _eat_. It isn't good for you to spend all your time mopin' up here. Festus, Newly, or I can watch over Matt for that long."

"Shore 'nuff, Miss Kitty," Festus said, pleased to be entrusted with the marshal's health. "Wouldn't do to have ya lookin' all peaked-like when ole Matthew wakes up. Not," he added hastily as Doc scowled at him, "that you ain't purty anyways."

"Festus," she sighed, a trace of her customary asperity showing in her voice, "I appreciate the compliment, but I know what I look like and it's nothing close to pretty right now."

"Pshaw, Miss Kitty, you'd look purty if you was wrapped in burlap," Festus protested warmly. "Whal, I'd best finish m' rounds and tell folks the good news." He ducked out the door before Kitty could say anything else. They could hear his strong voice happily proclaiming the news to the townspeople who had gathered there as soon as he reached street level.

Doc Adams stretched and then straightened his tie and vest in an unsuccessful effort to look more presentable. "Kitty, I'm gonna go to my office and grab quick shave before I go out on _my_ rounds. I'll make sure Festus and Newly know where to find me if you need me."

Kitty's smile was brighter, her eyes on the bed where her beloved slept. "All right, Doc. I think we can manage." When he'd gone, she sat again on the edge of the bed. Matt's eyes were open again and he seemed to be searching for her with them. He moved every few seconds, tossing his head from side to side. She leaned over and smiled into his eyes with deep, penetrating love. A faint smile appeared on Matt's lips in answer. Kitty smoothed the wild curls on his forehead and took one of his hands in both of hers. "Still here, Matt. You rest up. Go back to sleep, cowboy, you're gonna be fine." His face changed as if some inner light had broken over it. He tried to speak but no words came. At last, sighing, he closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

From the moment Kitty drew him into her arms, crying his name, the downward spiral snapped and was broken. Her words, for his ears only, released him. The darkness which had been pressing on him lifted as her strength, given freely and abundantly with her love, poured into him. Matt's breathing came slower and easier; the last of the nightmares and guilt dropped away, banished by the knowledge that he had not after all lost the one thing --- the one _person_ --- he treasured most.

Thirst and nausea dragged him back to wakefulness. His mouth felt like someone had stuffed it with sand filled burlap and his stomach informed him that it had been a long time since he'd last eaten. He tried casting back through the cobweb-like memories in an effort to figure out what had happened to him and how much time had been lost but succeeded only in causing an increase in the dull throbbing in his head. Matt knew this feeling --- he'd been shot enough times to recognize the malaise which followed --- but he couldn't for the life of him remember any such encounter. Nor could he explain his presence in Kitty's rooms (and her bed) during daylight hours; he had always been most careful about that. He smiled to see Kitty curled asleep beside him, one slender hand twined in the fine hairs across his chest.

"Kitty." Matt had meant to put more strength behind the word but his lungs still felt heavy and wet. The name came out as a weak and softly spoken whisper.

Nonetheless, it was enough to wake her. She opened her eyes and bestowed upon him a loving smile that couldn't quite erase the worry she'd endured. "I'm here, Matt. How are you feeling?" Kitty instinctively searched his eyes for an answer; though still fever glazed, they were lucid. For the first time in days, Matt seemed actually aware of and responsive to her.

He groaned, wishing the gavel in his head would cease its pounding long enough for him to think more clearly. "Kitty," he managed, panting, "who shot me?" He sounded like a frustrated little boy waking from a nightmare. "I can't for the life of me remember just what happened!"

_How typical of him!_ "You shot you," Kitty responded acerbically though laugher colored her voice.

"I wouldn't have ---" His indignant protest ended in a coughing fit. Penitent and regretting teasing him so harshly when he plainly wasn't up to it, Kitty offered Matt a glass of water. He drank thirstily but instinct restricted him to only a few sips before he passed the glass back to her and lay panting on the pillows. "Did I?" he asked plaintively.

"Of course not!" she told him, her voice rich with affection for his silliness. "You wore yourself out, that's all. It's gonna be a while before you're up to wrangling with any lawbreakers."

"The town?" Matt had to ask even though what he felt most like doing was curling up and going back to sleep in Kitty's arms.

Mischief twinkled in Kitty's blue eyes. "On its best behavior, according to Festus. He's been up here every day since you took ill so he could tell you about it. You had folks worried for a while, you know."

Matt didn't want to ask the next question, since he didn't think he'd much care for the answer but he had to know. "How…how long…?"

She hesitated before answering because she didn't want to upset him. "Almost a week," Kitty admitted. "You remember our dinner date?"

_That_ he remembered with complete clarity. Embarrassment and contrition, not fever, colored his cheeks. "I fell asleep. Kitty, I'm sorry!"

A tender smile played around in her eyes as she gently stroked the shaggy curls back from his forehead. "I think that can be forgiven, cowboy, given the circumstances." She kissed him on the cheek. "Why don't you just lie back and get some more rest? I can fix you something to eat while you're sleeping."

"I've already spent too much time in this bed," he grumbled, half minded to get up and at least put in an appearance at the jail.

If the heavy wetness of his lungs and the complete lassitude which wouldn't even allow him to sit up properly hadn't convinced him of his debility, the worried resolve darkening Kitty's eyes would have driven the point home. "Matt, don't fight with me on this. You still have a pretty bad fever and moving around will make it worse. We almost lost you once already. Now, please…go back to sleep, let yourself heal."

Matt let her settle him back against the pillows. As she wet another compress and wiped it over his face, he mumbled, "I just don't feel right, Kit."

"I know you don't," Kitty soothed, "but it'll get better from here on out. I promise."

"Stay with me." He needed to say more than that; they needed time to talk and he needed time to make good on some promises that had been waiting to be kept for far too long. His eyes, clouding with sleep, lingered on her and begged Kitty to understand what he lacked the strength to say.

"Matt." Her sultry voice was firm, no nonsense. When she used that voice on the drovers who had had just a bit too much, they listened and went home to whatever was serving as a bunk that night. It wasn't a tone of voice which many could face or argue with and that made him smile. Matt had no intention of arguing with whatever she was about to say. "I've told you, I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right here when you wake. Now go back to sleep."

Kitty sat with him a while longer, simply watching the rise and fall of his chest as he slept and studying her beloved's face. The rugged tan he usually carried from spending most of his time outdoors had faded, leaving him looking pale and worn, and there were dark circles under his eyes. These were things, however, which would repair themselves given enough time to do so. He was safe. He would be all right.

She waited until she was certain Matt had fallen asleep and would stay that way for a while before she carefully extricated her hand from his and rose to collect the fixings she needed for a nutritious soup broth. She lingered for a moment, smiling down on him, and then pulled the quilt up over his shoulders before going about her task with a good will and a much lighter heart.


	10. Chapter 10

**All characters are copyright to CBS, I'm just borrowing them.**

"_Lonely sound of distant thunder_

_Stirs my restless sleep_

_And the dream that I was lost in slips away_

_Of a young son and his mama_

_So innocent back then._

_Would she even recognize her boy today?_

"'_cause I have fought into the darkness_

_And I've spilled blood with these two hands_

_And in my heart I wish I could believe_

_That who I was is who I am."_

**--** "Letting Go" by George Canyon

**Chapter 10**

**Five days later**

Kitty was getting ready to go out. She examined her reflection in the looking glass and ran the brush through her curls one more time before setting both back on the vanity. "Well, that's as good as it's going to get. I'd better go."

Matt watched her fussing with her hair and smiled. He secretly loved it when it got away from her like that. He would have liked to take up the brush and draw it through her thick auburn locks feeling the silk of it pour through his hands, as he sometimes did, but he knew Kitty would have a fit if he so much as moved from this chair. She and Doc had only allowed him out of the bed yesterday, on the condition that he'd sit quietly, stay wrapped in the blankets, and go _back_ to bed when tired. All things considered, he guessed he didn't mind the restrictions too much, although he would never admit it to either of his caretakers. The chair he occupied, whether by design or accident, faced the one window in Kitty's rooms which overlooked Front Street. At least he could keep a discrete eye on the town from this vantage and feel at least some level of usefulness.

"Where are you off to this afternoon, Kitty?" he asked and tried not very successfully to keep the wistfulness out of his gravelly voice. He'd gotten used to having her to himself. If he couldn't go with her, he at least wanted to know what she was doing.

"Oh," replied Kitty, distracted, "I've got a few errands to run and then I need to spend some time on the books. Sam's complaining that they're not adding up again but neither of us can figure out exactly why accounts aren't balancing."

Matt looked concerned. Had he distracted her so badly with his illness that he'd put the livelihood of the Long Branch in jeopardy? _Yet more harm I've caused her. Does it ever stop? _"That sounds serious. Anything I can do?"

Kitty saw the guilty look, quickly suppressed, flitting across his face. _Don't you _dare_ blame yourself for this, Matt Dillon! Not everything which goes wrong in my life is your fault._ "No, no," she assured him. "Sam and I can handle it." Her lips pursed in disapproval. "Sam says on the nights the books haven't balanced the new girl I hired has been working behind the bar."

"If she's skimming from the cash box, maybe you'd better talk to Newly and have him look into it," Matt suggested as he moved restlessly beneath the blanket Kitty had tucked around him.

"You leave your deputy out of this; this is strictly a business matter. I just need to have a talk with her, that's all. She seems like a nice kid, a little mixed up maybe. Calls herself Fancy, came up from Abilene not too long ago." Kitty shrugged on the fox fur cape she'd ordered from St. Louis and looked around for the little muff Festus had made for her last winter. It was a crude little thing but she treasured it for the time and effort its creator had put into it. The hill man rarely had more than a couple of coins in his pocket and didn't give gifts often. The few he did give were handmade, speaking loudly of how closely the possessor was held to the creator's heart. "Now where did I put that? Oh, that's right." She opened the middle draw of the vanity and found it tucked among the hair ribbons. After sliding her hands into it, she bent over and kissed Matt on the cheek. "Honey, I've _got_ to go now. We can talk when I get back."

Matt would have preferred the touch of those warm lips against his own, but she was taking no chances. _How long has it been now? _"How much longer do I have to stay cooped up in here?" Matt sighed and it turned into a fit of coughing.

Silently, Kitty removed the muff and handed the convalescing marshal a glass of water and quinine. They'd been over this dozens of times since he'd come out of his delirium. Sometimes she believed Matt thought if he discussed it enough times, the answers would change. She recalled Doc telling her that Matt's energy levels and condition would have to be carefully monitored so that he did not cause himself a relapse. He tended to tire later in the day as the medications wore off and the symptoms re-emerged. Matt, of course, refused to acknowledge that and would push himself if allowed to do so. She wasn't entirely certain she could depend on Festus to keep the marshal from doing so either.

_Maybe I ought to get my errands done as quickly as possible and check up on them around lunch time. He ought to be good and ready to go back to bed by then. _ "You know what Doc said just as well as I do. You can go back to your usual routine when your lungs are clear, you stop running fevers, and you can finish a solid meal without it coming back up. No, Matt," she said firmly, holding up a hand to silence his objections, "I'm not arguing about this with you again. I know you're bored being cooped up here, but Festus should be up any moment now to play checkers with you."

"All right, Kitty, fine," Matt relented, "I'll behave." Although being with Festus was not the same as spending time with Kitty, he did look forward to Festus' visits and not just because he played a good game of checkers. The hill man had his own interpretation of Doc Adams' orders to keep Matt "quiet and undisturbed" and the lawman could always count on his deputy to keep him informed of everything going on in Dodge, not to mention spin an amusing yarn or two.

"Have fun," he urged, but Kitty noted the hint of petulance that furrowed the corners of his lips.

"Yeah, right," Kitty muttered but not loudly enough for the lawman to hear. She hid it well, but Kitty didn't want to leave any more than Matt wanted her to go. She'd been putting off getting some of the things she needed because she hadn't wanted to chance running into a certain conniving group of females. That promise she'd given Doc --- to mind her temper and her tongue --- got harder to keep each time one of the old biddies said something. If they cornered her in the mercantile today, Kitty wasn't certain she could respond civilly or ignore them! "Good morning, Festus," she greeted the hill man as he jangled toward her enthusiastically.

The weathered deputy's eyes lit with pleasure and a smile cracked his face. "Why, mornin', Miss Kitty! How's ole Matthew farin'? Must be some better , seein's how you're goin' out, ain't ya?"

Kitty patted her old friend on the arm and nodded. "Yeah, I've got some errands to run. Go on up, Festus, he's waiting for you." Squaring her shoulders against whatever lay in store, she headed in the direction of the mercantile.

Festus, as was his habit, watched the redhead make her way down the boardwalk. Once reassured that no one would bother her he thumped up the stairs, anxious to look in on his friend. He hadn't been allowed to see Matt once he regained consciousness until Doc had decided the visits wouldn't do the marshal any harm. This was only his second visit to socialize with the marshal since Doc had lifted those restrictions; the first had been some short of an hour.

When he reached Miss Kitty's rooms, Festus reined in some of his enthusiasm. Matt would certainly be glad to see him --- he always was --- but Festus understood his friend was easily worn out. He poked his head cautiously through the door. "Matthew?"

The marshal, in spite of feeling unwell, broke into a boyish grin at the sight of his friend standing there awkwardly. "Have a seat, I've got the board set up."

Festus noticed the marshal's voice sounded reassuringly stronger than it had on their last visit though his breathing was still labored. Still plumb grateful his friend had survived and was apparently on the mend, he made quick time across the room and took one of Matt's hands firmly in both of his. "Matthew! I'm pure-dee pleasured to have you back with us. Why, yer lookin' fit as a tick this mornin'!"

Matt, surprised by the intensity of his deputy's greeting, squeezed back and smiled. His grip lacked strength and it annoyed him. He'd wanted to at least give Festus that much assurance that he'd be all right. "Festus…." he said, dredging air into his stubborn lungs. "Festus, it's good to see you too, but take it easy there. I need that hand for checkers." Even in delirium, Matt had been aware of his deputy's presence and had appreciated the diligence and dedication exhibited.

Festus let go of the marshal's hand; he poured them each a cup of coffee, handed Matt his, and then sat in the chair opposite squinting at the board. "I'll tell you, Matthew, I'm awful glad you ain't as peaked as you was. You're a whole heap better already, but I swear on my grandpa Hog Haggen's grave, you shore gave us all a terrible scare." Having decided where he wanted to move his piece, he slid the black chip forward.

Speaking was still an effort and Matt had to catch his breath before he could continue. Seeing Festus' worried expression, he added, "I got pretty weak but I think I'm doing all right now." He studied the board and then moved one of his red chips forward. "So, how are things around town?"

The hill man ignored the obvious opening Matt had left him and moved another piece. "This here early snow storm kinda threw things off kilter. Lotsa folks is in town stockin' up before winter sets in proper but we ain't hardly had no trouble with 'em 'ceptin' the Johnsons and the Carpenters."

"They were _both _in town at the same time? It's a wonder Front Street's still standing." The rivalry between the two families was quickly approaching legendary status in Ford County. Their properties shared a boundary line which was in constant dispute, usually depending on the status of the relationships between offspring, and Matt had spent the better part of a day riding out there several times a month to mediate. That wasn't, however, the main issue, pulling at the two families.

"Aw, foot, Matthew, it didn't amount to much a nothin'," Festus assured him. "Both wagons pulled up in front of Lathrop's. The menfolk glared at each other like dogs about t' wrangle over a bone. They jawed for jest a bit an' then Abe took a swing at Dirch. While they was fightn', just as you'd 'spect, them Johnson boys started in with the Carpenter girls." Festus let go a grin, having saved the best of the tale for last, and slapped his thigh. "Don't you go worryin' none, Matthew. Miss Kitty took aside them girls and Doc had more 'n' few words with the boys."

"I reckon they all got an earful," Matt said with a raspy chuckle. He was, unfortunately, all too familiar with Doc's courting advice and the sharp side of Kitty's wit.

"Oh, they's square now. Them Carpenter girls has done figgered which Johnson boy goes with who an' now they're sparkin' cozier than turtle doves in a rain shower. I 'spect there'll be weddin's afore too long."

"Well, it's about time! Maybe that'll settle 'em down and I won't have to ride out there every month to settle property disputes," said Matt with considerable satisfaction. His hand hovered over one of his pieces as he muffled a cough, and then he moved it forward to take one of Festus' off the board. "Did you have to put Abe and Dirch in a cell?"

"I shore did give 'em that choice, Matthew, but I reckon they both figgered they'd rather head on home. 'Sides, both a they shemales twas alreddy talkin' all honey-tongued about weddin's and the like with one another. Why Matthew, with the younguns sparkin' and the shemales plottin', ol' Abe and Dirch was havin' Sam set 'em up last I saw!"

"I'd have paid good money to see that," Matt said as he moved another piece. "What about the Goodnight-Loving herds?"

The marshal's expression showed disapproval. The famous cattle outfits were known for taking risks if it meant greater profit and it was late in the year to be moving cattle. Most of the other outfits, mindful of impending winter weather, had brought their herds through weeks ago. Since the east's demand for beef exceeded the current supply with winter closing in, Goodnight's plan was to sell his beeves at a premium.

"Ross Whitherspoon brought his outfit in a few days after you took sick, Matthew. We was 'spectin' the second outfit but it never showed. Whall, Ross swore blue that they waren't more than a day behind but figgered they must've run smack dab onto some trouble." Festus leaned forward with hands on his thighs, hazel eyes glittering with good humor.

Matt knew from previous experience that his deputy was getting ready to spin a yarn he considered particularly entertaining. He let Festus savor the moment before demanding, a trace of mock impatience in his voice, "Well, don't just sit there grinning. Tell me what happened!"

The hill man took his time, pausing long enough to jump two of Matt's pieces and take them from the board. Whatever the big man had planned didn't seem to be working. Festus could only remember one other game in which he'd been able to jump pieces like that and he'd only gotten away with it because the marshal, in a rare fit of indulgence, had just finished off the better part of a bottle of whiskey.

"This here storm was a bad 'un. It went dark as the inside of a 'possum's pocket right in the middle of the day! Then the flakes was a-fallin' so thick you could hardly see yer hand in front a yer face. 'bout the time the storm broke over Dodge, I saddled Ruth and rode out for a look-see. Ole Ross, he insisted on coming with a few of his drovers in case th' other outfit needed help. When we finally come upon 'em…" He shook his head in disbelief. "I never in all my born days seen nothin' like it. They ain't posted no outriders. If I'd been of a mind, I coulda walked off with half the herd and ain't nobody would've noticed."

"That's odd," said Matt as he twisted restlessly in his chair. "Their ramrod ought to have known better." Frustrated, he frowned at the board. Festus' last move had destroyed his strategy and now, with his thoughts scattering whenever he tried to focus, he'd lost track of what he'd been trying to do. A sharp ache had lodged itself behind his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose in hope of discouraging it and then tentatively pushed forth another piece.

"Whall, foot, Matthew," Festus exclaimed, "that there ramrod weren't no more n' a button an' he's a greenhorn to boot! He ain't never been in charge a' no cattle drive afore. His uncle gave 'im the job as a favor. Ol' Ross got 'im straightened out an' posted the outriders. Them cattle weren't in no kinda shape by then. Some of 'em were plumb froze to the ground an' we had to break their heads free."

Matt had heard of that happening once or twice before, usually when the foreman on the drive didn't keep the herd moving through the storm. The cattle put their heads down to graze after scraping through the snow to dried grass and the moisture from their own breath turned to a deadly coating of ice. The mistake was generally discovered too late to save the animals; they smothered where they froze. Such incidents could completely ruin a smaller outfit and Matt didn't understand why Goodnight would have risked his assets with an untried foreman. "You got 'em in safely?"

"Shore 'nuff, Matthew. Ross done taken the kid under his wing so's when they move out again once the storm lifts he'll know what needs done. He'll do, he's just greener n' a tomater in the shade, that's all." Festus frowned at the board and wondered what on earth had gotten into Matt; the last piece he'd moved belonged to Festus. "Might want to rethink that there move," he prompted gently.

When the marshal didn't respond, Festus risked a sideways glance at his friend. Long years of serving as Matt's deputy and accompanying him on the trail had granted the hill man the ability to read and interpret his friend's mental and physical status. Another might not have noticed the telltale signs which told him Matt wasn't feeling well: the tightening around the eyes, the grim set to the mouth, the convulsive swallowing. Festus picked up the piece Matt had just moved and put it back in its original position.

"What did you do that for?" Matt snapped, irritable.

"'cause it ain't your piece, Matthew, it's mine."

Festus was right; Matt _had_ moved the wrong piece. He tried to think of a graceful way he could end the game --- at least for now --- but the wave of fatigue and nausea wouldn't let him. He scrubbed at the side of his head, trying to gain some clarity. It only increased the pain and discomfort and, hoping to ease it, he shifted restlessly. "Sorry 'bout that, Festus."

The deputy's voice held a wealth of compassion and concern. "It's all right, Matthew, don't you worry none about it." He hesitated, uncertain of how to bring up the subject, and then decided that the marshal's welfare was more important than his pride. "Maybe you oughta go back to bed for a spell. You look downright peaky."

"No. No, I'm all right," the big man barked, "let's finish the game." He might have actually pulled it off if another fit of coughing hadn't seized him.

Kitty, on his previous visit, had shown Festus Matt's medications and shown him which ones might be needed. Keeping an anxious eye on Matt, Festus measured out the quinine and mixed it with a splash of water in a glass which he handed to the marshal. Matt stubbornly waved it away but Festus, disliking the bluish tinge to his friend's complexion, wouldn't be deterred. In a tone of voice he rarely used, he commanded, "Don't get ta actin' all stubborn now, Matthew. Just go 'head on an' drink it."

Blinking in surprise at his usually mild mannered deputy's sharp tone, Matt did his best to obey. His hands shook too much to hold the glass; Festus held it for him as Matt reluctantly finished the vile tasting concoction. "Much obliged, Festus," Matt managed between gasps.

After placing the glass next to the abandoned checkers, Festus' strong work roughened hands gently grasped Matt's forearm and shoulder. "C'mon, now, Matthew, let's get you back in that there bed. You'll be a heap comfier and rest a mite better." Matt would have liked to argue but he really did feel awful. Bed was the best place for him now.

"All right, Festus, help me get there, would you?"

The bed might as well have been miles away instead of only a few feet across the room. By the time Festus had gotten him there, Matt was trembling with exhaustion and grateful for his deputy's support. "Just take it easy, Matthew," Festus soothed. "Ain't no hurry for you to be anywhere." Noting it was well past time for the midday meal, he asked, "You want I should get you somethin' to eat?"

Matt groaned. The thought of eating anything completely repulsed him for once. "No, Festus, I couldn't eat anything right now."

"Now, Matthew, you gotta eat if'n you're gonna get your strength back. Why, I wish I could git you a batch of my Aunt Thede's 'possum stew. You remember Aunt Theodore, doncha, Matthew? Whall, it's guaranteed good fer what ails ya. 'Course, I kin fetch some chicken broth from Delmonico's for ya. That'll do in a pinch."

"Festus…" The marshal swallowed hard. "Could we _please_ talk about…something other than food?"

"Anything you say, Matthew," Festus said with uncharacteristic meekness. He was embarrassed that he'd forgotten Matt was too ill for bantering and that he'd made matters worse. "It's the quinine what does it, my Aunt Thede told me. The quinine dries up the appetite with the cough. We Haggens couldn't afford no doctor but Aunt Thede, she trained with Ol' Missus Sabel who knew all about the medicines, potions, and herbs. Mind you, Missus Sabel waren't directly no Haggen relation but t'were close enough as made no nevermind. Don't you worry, none, Matthew," he soothed, "we'll have you fit as a speckled pup in no time."

Matt closed his eyes and listened to the sound of water being wrung from a cloth. As the coolness slipped over his eyes, he sighed and relaxed. Festus would take care of things, he could always depend on that.

"Festus, would you do something for me?" A ragged cough interrupted his request. "It's waited too long as it is." Matt told his deputy what he wanted and where to get it. "You'll find the money you need in my desk drawer at the office. It ought to be just enough."

"You bet, Matthew. I'll take care of it straight away."

"Don't let anybody find out about it."

"Don't you worry, not one bit. I'll do 'er, Matthew!"

Matt's eyes were closing; he expected Festus to go but sensed his longtime friend seemed reluctant to leave him just yet. With what remained of his waning rationality, Matt guessed Kitty had told him not to leave until she returned. The drowsy marshal's raspy breathing slowed and smoothed out as his mind slid gently away from checkers and Kitty's sweet scented quarters above the Long Branch. Somewhere beyond, he heard a soft melodic jingling --- _what were those, sleigh bells?_ --- and shouts of children as they played in the snow. He smiled, allowing himself to be carried away by the peaceful vision. He longed to feel the bright coldness of the snow against his neck, to mold the new fallen snow into a ball. He knew just who he'd target and where he hoped it would fall.

The fever dragged him back toward the darkness but Matt Dillon held tightly to his more pleasant thoughts and the steadying presence of his friend. Although he continued to drift, they provided a welcome anchor for his sanity and a balm against the horrible nightmares which had plagued him.

As Festus moved about, getting a basin and cloth, he mumbled to himself, "Whall, can't see how Matthew's gonna git better not havin' et nothin'. Seein's it's pert near dinner time, I s'pose Miss Kitty is bound to bring back somethin' larrupin'." He figured if anyone could persuade the marshal to eat _something_, Miss Kitty could. There wasn't much, as far as the hill man had seen, that he would refuse her if it was in his power to give.

Matt tossed restlessly and irritably shoved the quilt away. Patiently, Festus covered him again and soothed the big man's fever with the cool compresses. He found it worrisome that the marshal seemed in such bad condition so sudden-like and wished Miss Kitty would cut her outing short and hurry back. "I shore hope I didn't push ole Matthew too hard," he fretted to himself.

In that instant, angry, raised voices coming from Front Street startled them both. Festus darted over to the window, gun in hand, and peered out at the street from behind the lace curtains. Matt, jerked awake by the noise, struggled to sit up and instinctively fumbled for his gun belt, which was of course nowhere to be found. Exasperated, he barked at his deputy, "What the hell's going on?"

Festus was holstering his gun but a look of disgust remained on his face. "Them gossipy ole shemales," he muttered. "They's gone and pestered Miss Kitty till she done lost her temper. Miss Kitty's the one causing all the kerfluffle."

"You'd better go down and take care of it before someone gets hurt," sighed Matt. Knowing his beloved redhead's ire as well as he did, it wasn't Kitty's safety he was immediately worried about!


	11. Chapter 11

All characters are copyright to CBS, I'm just borrowing them

**Hard Promises to Keep**

**Author's Note**: Many of the women who kept establishments required their girls to maintain certain wardrobe standards both when they were working and when they were out in public. The initial cost could range into the thousands of dollars, rendering the women essentially slaves or indentured servants. While this isn't the case with the Long Branch, it's worth noting. Most were expected to have a basic suitable wardrobe (clean, well mended, fashionable, with dresses suitable for work and for going out in the community) before they even started working, and this certainly _would_ have been the case at Kitty's. Fancy's situation is inspired by this and the song, "Fancy" by Reba McEntire.

**All characters are copyright to CBS, I'm just borrowing them.**

"_You come from a town where_

_People don't bother saying hello_

_Unless somebody's born or dies_

"_And I come from a place where they_

_Drag your hopes through the mud_

_Because their own dreams are all dying_

"_And when we walk down the street_

_The wind sings our name in rebel songs_

_The sounds of the night should make us anxious_

_But it's much too late when the fear is gone"_

**-- **"Promises" performed by Megadeth

**Chapter 11**

Kitty hadn't quite made it to the mercantile when she heard Sam, her bartender, calling her name. He had just come from the bank and was on his way back to the Long Branch with the cash box. "Good afternoon, Miss Kitty! How's the marshal doing?"

"Hello, Sam," Kitty greeted him warmly. "He's doing as well as can be expected under the circumstances."

A smile creased Sam's craggy features when he heard the wry undertone in Kitty's voice. "He's tired of staying abed, is he?"

She nodded. "It's all I can do to keep him there. Festus is keeping him occupied with a game of checkers. Was there something else, Sam?" she asked, noting his hesitation and the slight frown.

"Miss Kitty, Fancy's waiting in your office and I reckon you ought to talk to her."

"Yes, I suppose I should," Kitty sighed. She allowed a small hint of annoyance to color her voice but was secretly grateful for the distraction. _The longer I put off my errands, the less chance I have of running into those gossipy women._

Sam offered her his arm. "I'll walk you back, Miss Kitty."

"Thank you, Sam. I appreciate that."

The woman -- _No_, thought Kitty with surprise, _"girl" would be a more appropriate description_ -- waiting for her in her office didn't look like a thief; she looked like someone with heavy burdens and a troubled conscience. Kitty tried recalling if she had heard anything from clients about Fancy or if the girl had told her anything about her personal life while working at the Long Branch. She could only remember that she had given her place of origin as Abilene, Texas. Kitty settled into the chair at her desk and gestured toward the other one. "Sit down, Fancy, and tell me what's on your mind. Would you like some coffee?" Without waiting for her to answer, Kitty poured them each a cup from the Blue Willow coffee service. She added a small splash of brandy from the crystal decanter on her desk. "It's cold out today."

Fancy wrapped her hands around her cup and blew on it to cool it before taking a sip. The brandy and the caffeine seemed to lend her courage. "Miss Kitty, I done you wrong," she blurted as the tears trickled down her smooth white cheeks. Rummaging around in the pocket of her worn day dress, she finally came up with a fistful of paper money and coins which she poured onto Kitty's desk. "I brung back what I could but I…I had to use some of it. I'm powerful sorry!"

Speechless, Kitty stared at the money in front of her; there must have been at least twenty dollars there. "Fancy," she said at last, her voice reflecting disappointment, "why did you do this? I pay all my girls well."

She couldn't meet Kitty's eyes. "I knowed you require us girls to dress decent but Miss Kitty…I cain't do that and still feed the young'uns. They's half starved as it is." Fancy hung her head, the dark ringlets curtaining her face so Kitty couldn't see the tears. "I'll understand if'n you don't want me working here no more."

Kitty laid a compassionate hand on the girl's arm. "Fancy," she asked, "exactly how old _are_ you?"

Fancy gulped and sniffled. "I'll be seventeen in the spring, Miss Kitty."

_This is partially my fault. I didn't pay attention to her age when I hired her...or she lied about it._ "That's a little…young for this work," Kitty said dubiously. "How did you come to be a saloon girl?"

"My ma paid one of the madams in our neighborhood to fix me up pretty. That there satin dress I wore when working was my first and only. Then the two of 'em screened gentlemen callers. The big bidder was a man from New Orleans who wanted me for an entertainment house specializing in young girls." Her voice trembled. "I didn't stay there long. It was an awful place and we never got to keep nothing. The master got careless one night and left my door unlocked. I…I tried to go home but there weren't nothin' left of it and no one around 'cept my younger brother and the baby." She sighed, her eyes misting over. "Ma was dead, had been for several days. I took the young'uns and lit out. Dodge is jest where we landed, is all."

"Well," said Kitty firmly, "you're not going back _there_." She eyed Fancy's patched dress distastefully and frowned as she recalled the cheap satin dress the girl normally wore to work. "I think, however, we will have to do something about your wardrobe."

Gratitude shone in Fancy's warm brown eyes. "You mean…you're not gonna fire me, Miss Kitty?"

"I should" Kitty tempered her admission with a friendly smile "but I won't. There will be a few changes made, for you own good." She eyed Fancy appraisingly. "I think I have some dresses which might fit you, though they'll need taking in. Where are you and your siblings staying?"

She gestured vaguely in the direction of Rat Hole Alley. "In a shack down yonder. It ain't much but it's all we could afford."

Kitty shook her head. "That won't do at all. I can't let you stay here -- the Long Branch is no place for kids -- but we could get you set up in one of the boarding houses. I'll increase your wages to accommodate those expenses. The other girls may do so if they choose, but I don't want you taking any of the men upstairs. What I'm going to pay you should be sufficient. You'll be selling drinks only, is that understood?"

"Yes, ma'am!" Fancy stood and hesitated, hand on the door knob, before blurting out, "I figure, since you're puttin' yerself out fer me an' all, that you have a right to know. He'll be lookin' for me…and he's a bad one."

"You wouldn't be the first girl to work for me who had that problem," Kitty assured her. "Don't you worry, we know how to handle that sort of thing. If your friend shows up, go to Sam. He'll know what to do." Kitty rose and put a motherly arm around Fancy's shoulders. "Take the rest of the day to get those young'uns settled and then come back here this evening so we can get those dresses fitted to you. I'll tell Sam to expect you since I'll be upstairs most of the evening. And from now on," she admonished, "you come to me if you have problems." Kitty pressed a ten dollar coin into Fancy's hand. "Get those boys of yours some decent clothes and something to eat."

When she'd seen Fancy out of the Long Branch, Kitty sought out Sam. He was behind the bar restocking the kegs and bottles. "Everything all right, Miss Kitty?" he asked.

She nodded as she put the remainder of the money back into the cash box. "Call it a misunderstanding, Sam. You won't have to worry about disappearing money." Kitty frowned and lightly touched Sam's arm. "I may have brought more trouble calling at our door though." Kitty told him about Fancy's predicament. "Watch her, Sam, and if anyone suspicious gets close or causes problems, do what you can to protect her. Use the shotgun if it comes to that." She twisted a fold of her dress in her hands. "It's not that I don't have confidence in Festus and Newly but…."

Sam's amber eyes flashed determination. "I understand, Miss Kitty. I'll watch her as if she were my own daughter."

Kitty smiled as she settled the fox fur cape around her shoulders. "Make sure you send her up to see me this evening when she comes in. I've told her it's all right." Her eyes clouded and some of the animation left her lovely face. "I don't think Matt's going to be in any condition to mind. He's usually pretty worn down by evening."

"I'll see to it, Miss Kitty," replied Sam, wishing there were something more he could do to ease his boss' troubles. Sam regarded the marshal highly and, Kitty's cautiously optimistic updates aside, he was worried about him. Kitty had enlisted his help with the big man on several occasions recently when he became too restless or combative for her to handle by herself.

"All right, Sam." Kitty gave his arm a friendly pat. "Now I have simply _got_ to get these errands done. They've been put off long enough as it is."

As luck would have it Widow Pry and some of her cohorts from the church sewing circle, having just that afternoon engaged in a rousing discussion of the evils afflicting their town, were also in the mercantile. Kitty tried retreating back onto the boardwalk but it was too late; they had already seen her. "Good afternoon, Miss Russell," said Widow Pry, her voice cold and accusing.

"Miss Pry," Kitty acknowledged with a tight smile. She turned her back on the cluster of women and handed her list to the store clerk. "Could you take care of these for me?"

Lathrop looked over the paper Kitty had handed him and nodded. "It'll take a while to get all these things together, Miss Kitty. Do you mind waiting?"

Kitty shook her head. "I can pick up the packages tomorrow or you can have them sent over to the Long Branch. Could I look at some of your calicoes?"

"They're over there in the corner," said Lathrop, gesturing to a table of fabric bolts. He gave her a curious look; while Miss Kitty often bought dress materials, calico was not among her favored fabrics.

"How the mighty have fallen. I wasn't aware that a saloon madam would wear something so common as _calico_," one of the women remarked, just loud enough to be overheard, and someone tittered.

Kitty, directing her response to Lathrop and making an effort to keep a neutral tone in her voice, said, "One of my girls needs a wardrobe and I'm helping her out. Mr. Lathrop, I think three yards each of that rose calico and the white with the buttercups on it ought to do. I'll also need notions to match."

"Shall I add this to your order?" Lathrop asked.

"No, I'm afraid I need this today if it's not too much trouble," Kitty responded.

"I'll have it ready for you in a few minutes," he said, getting out his scissors and measuring stick.

"Kitty Russell," said Widow Pry, "all this charitable behavior and taking care of the marshal won't suddenly make you a respectable citizen." She wagged a bony finger toward Kitty's face. "I _know _what you are."

"Edsel Pry." Kitty nailed the woman with her gaze. "What I'm doing is none of your concern."

"It becomes our concern when what you're doing impacts the moral atmosphere of this town," spoke up a sallow faced woman with limp, straw colored hair and pale green eyes. Kitty recognized her as Biddy O'Connor, whose husband was a well known rancher with a good business reputation. "I can understand leaving the marshal in your care for a few days, but surely he's strong enough to be tended by someone more…suitable."

"Like your daughter?" a wit in the crowd queried. Biddy could not identify the heckler and so had to content herself with glaring at Kitty.

"Take it up with Doc Adams," Kitty said through gritted teeth. "Though it's none of your business or concern, the marshal is still a very sick man and Doc says he's not to be moved."

"Just how _did_ Marshal Dillon come to be in your chambers in the first place?" sniffed Letitia Williams, whose husband owned one of the upscale general stores which catered to the more gentrified citizens of Dodge.

Kitty stammered, "W…we were having supper."

"Bet I know what the main course was," someone else commented.

"You have no call to say that to me," Kitty retorted. She backed up a few steps and felt her hip connect with the corner of a display containing lamp chimneys. The glassware chimed and clattered in warning. It was all too vivid to be a dream, but Kitty Russell's nightmare had come to life. The women really _had_ cornered her; Kitty couldn't retreat any further without breaking the display and she couldn't push her way through the circle of women in front of her. There were too many of them.

Lathrop, whether because he feared for his merchandise or had a genuine liking for the fiery tempered saloon owner, stepped from behind his counter and tried to intervene. "Now see here, ladies," he said sternly. "I think you'd best either go about your business in a polite, civilized manner or go elsewhere. I'll have no fighting in my shop. Miss Kitty has every bit as much right to shop peaceably as you do, regardless of her…er… personal choices ...and, er...other activities."

Kitty couldn't decide whether or not she should thank him or slap him. She almost laughed. _This whole situation is just ridiculous! Damn Doc and his promises, I'm not putting up with this._

"What _will_ you do, Mr. Lathrop?" demanded Widow Pry, her tone sly and smug. "You can't very well call the marshal and I very much doubt that…that rapscallion hill man and that green youngster going around town pretending to be deputies can fulfill his prerogatives."

"Vile woman," Lathrop shouted, shaking his fist, "I've had more'n enough from ya! I ought to take a broom to your backside and the scissors to your lying tongue. You and that bevy of vipers get out of here now!"

Everyone tensely stood their ground, Kitty wishing she could simply disappear. The whole argument might have come to nothing but for one small thing. Biddy squeaked in indignation and turned her wrath on Letitia. "Get off my foot, you heifer!"

"I didn't step on you, Biddy," Letitia returned, acid in her eyes, "at least, not a-purpose. Why, that saloon woman _jostled_ me. Of all the nerve!"

"I most certainly did not," Kitty said hotly. Her temper frayed, she added, "But I'm going to do a good deal more than jostle you if you don't all mind your own business and leave me alone!"

"You won't get away with this," Biddy screeched. "Your precious marshal isn't here to protect you now."

"Get away with what? Buying material to help out a girl? Offering a warm, clean place for someone with pneumonia to get well? I don't need anyone protecting me. In fact, if you don't back away from me this instant, Biddy, you'll be the one needin' protection!"

The sound of Biddy's hand hitting Kitty's cheek echoed in the stunned silence. Kitty took a step back, a disbelieving hand going to her face, as a single glass chimney fell off the display and shattered.

A wicked fire lit the redhead's eyes as she scanned the group, dismissing them as insignificant. Kitty had had enough. "You _ever_ touch me again," she said, enunciating each word carefully with a calm she was far from feeling, "and there won't be enough left of you to feed to the crows."

It was Letitia who grabbed Kitty's wrists in a surprisingly strong grip and manhandled her toward the door. "How dare you threaten her! You got no more'n you deserved. A woman of your persuasion belongs outside, in the streets, with the filthy animals she serves!"

"Now wait a minute," Widow Pry blustered, realizing things had gotten out of hand, "this isn't at all proper. I never meant -- Mr. Lathrop, go find one of those deputies to break this up before someone gets hurt." She didn't need to tell him twice; Lathrop had seen that look in the redheaded saloon owner's eyes once or twice before and it didn't bode well for the recipient. He skittered out the door.

The two men who had helped escalate the argument slipped back out onto the boardwalk unnoticed. "We done what we came for," the tall reedy one said to his shorter companion. "Now we'll step back and see about the marshal." They retreated to a safe distance and watched the events unfold.

Kitty hadn't wanted to resort to violence but no matter how she twisted and pulled she couldn't free herself from Letitia's grip. She stepped hard on the woman's foot and then elbowed her in the ribs. "I said, _let me go_!" Startled and out of breath, Letitia released Kitty's hands, which she put up just in time to evade another of Biddy's open handed slaps. Biddy made a snatch at Kitty's long hair but missed. Instead, the older woman's nails raked across Kitty's unblemished cheek.

Kitty caught Biddy's bony wrists in a solid grip, "Alright, I've just about had it with you, Biddy. I don't want to hurt you, seeing as how you're older than dirt. But you're leaving me no choice. Have you all lost your minds?! What's wrong with you women?"

"You shouldn't be allowed to breathe the same air as decent folk," Biddy hissed. She pulled Kitty off balance, causing her to release her grip and stumble forward. Biddy skittered quickly to the side, as Letitia hooked her fingers behind the clasp on the little fur cape and pulled it tight around Kitty's neck.

The jangling of spurs on the boardwalk alerted Kitty to Festus' presence. She breathed a sigh of relief as he started wading in and separating combatants. "All right, you blamed she-males quit your fussin' and caterwaulin'. Go on home. You oughrta be ashamed of yerselves, carryin' on like that where folk can see. Lettie, you turn loose a' Miss Kitty right this second!"

"Anything you say, _Deputy_ Haggen." With a malicious grin, Letitia Williams gave the little cape one final yank and shove. The chain clasp broke and Kitty tumbled over backwards into the horse trough. She plunged through the thin film of ice with a splash and began floundering. Her goal achieved, Letitia walked away with her head held high and her nose in the air.

"Miss Kitty, are you all right? Lathrop, help me get 'er out of there!" Kitty's petticoats and skirts were heavy when wet and it took both men, heaving and panting, to help her back onto the board walk.

"I'm all right, boys," Kitty managed through chattering teeth, "just mad as a wet hen clear through! Festus, take me home so I can get out of these wet clothes."

"I…I'm sorry this happened, Miss Kitty," Lathrop offered. "I'll make sure your calicoes are sent over to the Long Branch."

Kitty's smile was tight but genuine. "Thank you, Mr. Lathrop, I appreciate it. Festus, up the back stairs, if you please. I don't feel like explaining this to Sam."

"Well, you're shore gonna have t' 'splain it to ole Matthew," Festus said, his eyes widening in surprise. "Look yonder."

Her eyes automatically followed where Festus pointed. _Damn the man!_ Matt stood unsteadily on the bottom riser clad only in his flannel nightshirt, long john bottoms, and stockings. Kitty's little Derringer looked ridiculous in his large hand but he held it steady. The marshal seemed intent on scanning the street for some perceived danger; he did not, at first, seem to see either his deputy or Kitty. "Matthew Dillon," she exploded, "just what in hell do you think you're doing out here?"

"I...I saw…." He couldn't finish the sentence because a fit of coughing stole his breath away. The Derringer clattered to the boardwalk. "Two men," he finally managed. "Wanted."

"Yer eyes were deceiving ya, Matthew," Festus said gently as he picked up and pocketed the Derringer. He instinctively let his gaze play over the entire Front Street panorama. Seeing no one and nothing that appeared more out of place than the sight of Miss Kitty in dripping wet clothes, the deputy said, "T'weren't no men out there, jest those gossipy she-males and ole Lathrop. Betimes a fever will do that to a man, you know that. Miss Kitty, we oughrta get ole Matthew back inside an' get 'im warmed up afore he does hisself some mischief."

"Come on, Matt," Kitty sighed, putting her arm around his waist, as Festus scrambled to assist from the other side, "back to bed with you."

Matt would have liked to argue with both of them but what little strength he had seemed to have deserted him. He leaned heavily against Kitty and Festus, his vision swimming in and out as the knifelike wind tore through his tortured lungs. Matt concentrated, willing the confused thoughts dancing in his head to coalesce into something solid he could use to make his friends clearly understand. "Kitty…Festus…" he tried again as they were putting him to bed, "I've got to tell you...I saw them... have to get 'em..."

"You don't have to do anything except lay in that bed and rest," Kitty interrupted him. Her hand caressed his cheek, gauging the heat of the fever. "Festus, go get Doc."

"I don't need…Doc," Matt muttered grumpily. "If you'd just _listen_..."

Kitty handed Festus a couple of coins. "Stop at Delmonico's and get us some dinner while you're out. Broth for Matt, whatever the cook has on the menu tonight will do for the rest of us."

"I'll do 'er, Miss Kitty, don't you fret." The jingling of Festus' spurs faded as he made his way back downstairs, his passage muffled by accumulated snowfall.

Matt groaned. "I can't _stand_ broth, Kitty, you know that." It was a futile protest; he had tried -- and succeeded -- in persuading her to give him solid food only once since he'd taken ill and it was a decision they both had cause to regret.

"Well, it's what you're going to get." She sighed, planted a quick kiss on his forehead and then said, "I've got to get out of these wet clothes. Will you behave?"

In spite of his frustration, a small ironic smile played around the corners of Matt's lips. "Would it do any good to say otherwise?"

"Not really." Her voice, muffled as she wriggled her way out of her wet skirts and petticoats, carried to him from behind the dressing screen. She flung the garments over the screen to dry and then emerged wearing a soft white flannel gown over which she'd thrown a brocaded robe of deep sapphire. She sat down beside him on the bed and took his hand in hers. "How are you, Matt," she asked, searching his eyes, "really?"

"I've felt a whole heap better, Kit," he admitted, "but I still know what I saw." He had the notion both she and Festus were dismissing his observation as fevered ramblings and shook his head in agitation. "Newly's got to know about those wanted men. I…I can't recall where I saw the information on 'em but I _know_ I saw it somewhere."

"Later, Matt," she tried to soothe him, "you'll take care of it later when you're stronger."

"Later may be too late," Matt insisted, his voice rising. "The town…." Another fit of coughing and chills shook him.

"That's why you have deputies, Matt. Let them take care of it until you're well again." Her brow furrowed in a concerned frown as Matt struggled for breath and fought against the shivers which racked him. She eased him up and placed more pillows behind his back, hoping to improve his breathing, then tossed another blanket onto the bed. Kitty fretted about his condition; he hadn't been delusional when she'd left him with Festus. With shaking hands, she began mixing up his medications. Doc couldn't get there soon enough to suit her.

He saw her preparing the laudanum and put his hand on hers. "No more drugs, Kitty," Matt rasped. "I need to talk to Newly. The town, it's in danger…."

She shook her head. Her voice was firm and unyielding. "No, Matt, you don't get your way in this. I need you more than this blamed town and you're not doing a thing for Dodge if you die because of some fool fevered notion generated by your pride." She thrust the glass at him. "Drink it, Matt." He turned his head away, refusing to cooperate. A small part of Kitty's soul rejoiced in that act of defiance, most characteristic of the man she knew and loved, but she couldn't allow him to get away with it when he was still struggling just to breathe. "Matt, please; I've had a horrible day already. I'm worried about you, I've got other concerns on my mind...I said, _drink it_." In his debilitated state, it didn't take much effort for Kitty to coax the liquid down his throat. Her voice seemed to come to him from far off: "I'm sorry, Matt. Oh, I wish you'd be less stubborn!"

"I…I..._know_…what I saw. Tell them," Matt mumbled as the laudanum dulled his ability to think. He fought against the effects of the sedative but the effort to do so cost him more energy than he had. Against his will, Matt's eyes closed and he drifted into a light sleep through which a parade of spectral figures marched, dissolving into mist when he tried to grasp them.

Matt awakened when he heard Doc's shuffling footsteps approaching the bed. The cantankerous old physician had a concerned frown on his face which he quickly masked with his customary sour expression. "Just when did you trade your badge for a medical degree?" he grumped. "I'm fairly certain I _told_ you not to step foot out of this room until I said you could. But no, you know better and you just have to go traipsing around outside in your union suit. What happened to your common sense? I'll tell you what happened to it," Doc answered himself as he got his stethoscope out, "you've been hanging around too much with that lay about deputy of yours, that's what!"

"Now Doc," Matt said, trying to placate him, "that's not entirely the case."

"Be quiet," the elderly doctor snapped, "I can't hear a thing with you yammering on like that." Matt grinned unrepentantly and lay quietly while Doc Adams listened and thumped his chest here and there. When Doc looked up and put the stethoscope back in his bag, there was no mischief in his eyes and his expression was serious. "Well, now," he said slowly as he regarded the marshal, "I don't like that. I don't like it at all." Doc dug around in his bag until he came up with a small case of vials. He began mixing up an injection.

Matt stopped Doc short of plunging the needle into the vein. "Not until I know what it is," he said firmly. "I don't want any more laudanum."

"Your lungs are full of fluid, son," Doc explained. "This here will hopefully dry it up some so you can breathe easier." Matt nodded and let the doctor finish what he was doing. "Matt, listen to me and listen to me good. I don't want you up out of this bed for any reason until I say otherwise."

"Doc," Matt protested, "I don't feel _that_ bad."

"Matt." Doc regarded him with a stern, silvery gaze. "I mean it. There's only so much I can do. You have _got_ to do what I say this time with no excuses. Why else have Festus and Newly as your deputies if you don't trust them to protect the town when you can't?" He saw he had touched a nerve with the marshal when Matt winced away from his words. "The weight of the law doesn't have to rest solely upon your shoulders. You can't possibly serve her unless you take care of yourself first." His voice softened and he gave an embarrassed cough. "'sides, there's some folk who would like to have you as marshal in Dodge for a good many years yet. That won't happen if you keep messing around and disobeying your highly capable physician's orders."

"All right," said Matt, "we'll play it your way…for now."

"That's all I ask," Doc said, satisfied. "Now get some rest and eat something if you can. I'll be back to check in on you tomorrow evening."

Down on the street, the two outlaws watched the elderly physician shuffling his way through the snow. The taller of the two turned to the other and said, "That 'bout confirms it." He grinned, revealing crooked tobacco stained teeth. "Dodge is ripe for the picking and there ain't a thing that sickly marshal can do about it."


	12. Chapter 12

Hard Promises to Keep

**Hard Promises to Keep**

**All characters are copyright to CBS, I'm just borrowing them.**

"_It's a long, long way from where I am,_

_To where I ought to be._

_I can't remember where I made this turn,_

_Into no-man's land, as far as I can see._

"_Stranded being and a-broken down,_

_With only one way from this place._

_I always find the strength I need,_

_In the arms of my Angel and my saving grace."_

**-- **"A Hundred Miles of Bad Road" performed by Andy Griggs

**Chapter 12**

Matt feigned sleepy compliance when Kitty told him she would be sequestered with her ladies most of the day sewing and asked if he would be all right left to his own devices. Festus wouldn't be coming by today, either. He needed to ride down the Arkansas to check on some reports of fence cutting. The circumstances suited Matt just fine because he had absolutely no intention of staying put. He had duties to fulfill and he wouldn't be able to rest until he'd taken care of them.

When he was certain Kitty would not come back to check on him, Matt tackled the task of getting washed up, shaved, and dressed. He didn't feel too bad today; whatever Doc had given him last night seemed to have done its work. As long as he kept his movements slow and didn't exert himself, Matt's breathing remained relatively easy save for the occasional wheeze or cough.

He found a set of spare clothes in the bottom drawer of the bureau where Kitty kept them for him. Matt frowned; he'd lost weight and the pants hung a little loosely on his hips. He couldn't find his gun belt. Dillon didn't particularly like the idea of going out unarmed -- _Something Kitty must've counted on to keep me in bed_, he mused with an ironic smile -- but he had no choice. Wherever his beloved redhead had hidden it this time (and there had been other times when she'd had occasion to use the same trick), she had hidden it well.

Mindful of the weather's effect on his lungs, Matt wrapped a thick woolen muffler around his neck before putting on his coat. His fleece lined leather gloves were still in one pocket; he slipped those on too and then slowly and laboriously made his way down the back stairs. The sky was leaden with fat, fluffy flakes drifting gently down and dressing the town in a clean white mantle. Matt was surprised to discover that he was a little hungry. Pulling his Stetson down over his head, he crossed the street and walked down the boardwalk to Delmonico's.

The inclement weather had kept away most of the customers, a detail for which the lawman was grateful. He didn't want to answer a lot of questions about his health from curious citizens, especially if he hoped to keep his disobedience of Doc Adams' orders from being widely known. Matt sat down at a table tucked in the corner of the restaurant where he'd be less likely to be noticed but could still see the door.

"Why, good morning, Marshal," greeted the surprised waiter. "It's good to see you up and about. How you feelin'?"

Matt, trying to appear nonchalant, shrugged. "I'll guess I'll do."

"Good to hear, Marshal. Shall I get you your usual?"

There was nothing Matt _wanted_ more than a good thick steak with half a dozen eggs and hash browns, but he knew he'd better stick with something lighter. "No," he said, holding up a hand, "I don't think I'm ready for that just yet. Porridge, toast, and coffee will be fine."

He couldn't finish his breakfast, but it was enough to satisfy his appetite. Matt paid the bill and then slunk back down the street to his office. He was glad to be able to sit down at his desk; he felt like he'd crossed the entire prairie instead of just Front Street. Stifling a cough, he pulled the stack of wanted circulars toward him and began sorting through them.

An hour later, Matt still hadn't found what he was looking for. None of the faces or descriptions on the circulars matched those of the men he'd seen outside of Lathrop's store. He leaned back in his chair, put his feet up on his desk, and closed his eyes. His head throbbed painfully with every heartbeat and the light meal he'd eaten sat heavily with him. Matt was beginning to wish he'd stayed up in Kitty's rooms like he'd been told.

A shower of sparks exploded across his vision as he stood and went over to the filing cabinet. _If what I'm looking for wasn't in the circulars, it has to be in one of the War Department dispatches_. He didn't like removing the files to his desk, where anyone might come across them and read them, but he hadn't the energy to stand at the filing cabinet while he looked through them. Grabbing the first six months' worth, Matt staggered back to his desk and began pouring over them. Some were printed; others were handwritten. The handwritten ones would have been difficult enough to read had his mind been clear; in his weakened condition, the sepia toned words melted and slid in meaningless blots across the parchment when he tried to make sense of them. Sighing, he put those aside so that he could decipher them later and concentrated on the printed dispatches.

When nothing turned up, Matt began thinking he'd somehow, as Festus suggested, been mistaken but his lawman's instincts wouldn't let him give up on the idea. Finally, he found what he'd been looking for in a set of telegrams he'd kept for some reason which dated back nearly a year. There wasn't much to go on, just vague descriptions of the dozen or so men involved in the gang headed up by Ham Whitaker and the general pattern of the crimes they committed with a list of places they'd hit.

His lawman's brain, undeterred by the frailty of the man, began fitting pieces of the puzzle together. There had been a sharp increase in fence cutting and livestock theft in Ford County over the past two months and this was one of the known methods used by the Whitaker gang to keep a town's lawmen busy and jumping at shadows. He'd bet if he bothered to think about it that there'd also been a sudden increase in saloon brawls and other petty incidents all over town. That too was another tactic used by the gang; they typically incited fights in order to observe the town's group dynamics and to fragment loyalties.

Matt sighed; this was a big problem, one Newly was going to have to know about. The communiqué mentioned that the two men Matt had spotted in town generally arrived ahead of the gang to assess the town's defenses and discover how best to neutralize them. It wouldn't take them long, if they listened to the talk around Dodge or spoke with any of the citizens, to find out that the marshal was down sick or that Dodge's citizens considered the two deputies incapable of handling anything other than the usual bar brawls and cat fights between the working women. That wasn't exactly true or fair, but it was what the two outlaws would hear. Matt groaned when he realized that Burke, in particular, would loudly be telling anyone and everyone his complaints.

It all added up to the Whitaker gang making a strike at Dodge -- and soon. There was no way Matt would allow it, not even if it cost him his life. _I have to find a way to make Kitty and Doc see reason on this. I need my gun belt back!_ Matt pulled opened his bottom desk drawer and withdrew a spare Colt, this one with a smooth walnut handle. He snapped opened the barrel, then slapped it closed and spun it. It would do for now, until he could find out where Kitty had hidden his regular weapon. Leaning again, he

felt toward the back of the drawer and pulled out an old holster and belt. It would do fine. _Now, to find Newly…._ He didn't think Newly would take much persuasion, not with these dispatches and telegrams to back Matt up.

Suddenly Matt felt utterly exhausted. His head and stomach hurt and his vision had doubled. Even though he'd stoked the potbelly stove until it glowed cherry red with the heat, he shivered and each breath ended with a wheeze. He knew he'd gravely overestimated his stamina. _Should've_ _paid more heed to Doc's warnings_, Matt chided himself, _but things had to be done and no one was listening to me._ Initially he'd planned on sitting at his desk and waiting until Newly checked in so that he could talk to him about the Whitaker gang; now he contemplated curling up on the cot for a while before somehow summoning the strength to go back to Kitty's.

In the end, he did neither. He leaned back in his chair, eyes closed and hands folded tightly over his stomach, hoping the dizziness would pass and stayed that way for perhaps five minutes before Abe Carpenter and Dirch Johnson burst through the door anxiously calling for him. "Marshal Dillon! Marshal, we need you to come out to our place right quick."

Matt stared at the two farmers. "Abe…Dirch…I am _not_ riding all the way out to your places to verify the fence lines for that meadow in the southern quadrant again," he said tiredly. "It's exactly as it was the last three times you've asked me: half of the meadow belongs on Abe's claim, the other half on Dirch's and the dividing line is the creek."

"'t ain't about bound'ries, Marshal," Abe declared, looking at his cohort for support.

Dirch was nervously twisting his hat in his hands. "That's right, Marshal. We's settled that our ownselves and the wives is already a-plannin' the weddin's."

Abe elbowed him. "Get to the point, Dirch. Time's a-wastin'!"

"Someone done come onto our property an' cut the fence. They runned off with Dirch's prize milk herd and my hosses."

_So it's started_. "I'll get my horse from the livery and meet you out there," Matt sighed.

After the two farmers left, Matt slowly got to his feet and took one of the rifles down from the rack. He made certain the rifle was in good working condition and loaded then stuffed a handful of extra shells into his vest pockets. Matt went out the side entrance and navigated the alleys to the livery so that he wouldn't be seen. He didn't want anyone asking questions or tattling to Kitty.

Fortunately, no one was at the livery to see him saddle Buck. The buckskin, however, seemed to sense that his master shouldn't be riding out and tossed his head nervously as Matt approached. When he attempted to put the bridle on, Buck laid back his ears and nipped at Matt's hand.

"Hey, none of that!" he said sharply and gave the buckskin a light clout on the jaw. Buck sidestepped and tried to step on the marshal's feet. Gritting his teeth, Matt tossed the saddle up onto the buckskin's back. Buck walked out from under it twice before the marshal finally got the girth tightened.

Saddled and bridled, the fight went out of Buck and he stood placidly while Matt mounted. "It's all right, boy," Matt soothed the fretting horse, "we'll make this quick. I don't want to be out any longer than I have to." Buck cast a malevolent eye back at his master but moved out smartly when Matt kicked him into a trot.

Snow covered the prairie in great drifts, up to Buck's chest in places, and snowflakes still danced on the wind. Somewhere ahead, about six miles out of town and bordered by a small nameless creek, lay the Carpenter and Johnson spreads. The wheeze had become a racking cough. Matt hated the wind and the cold air tearing through his damaged lungs. He considered turning back but the lawman's sense of obligation wouldn't let him leave **such a crucial and potentially dangerous job**undone.

It seemed like forever before Buck hit the creek which was the dividing line between the two properties. His hooves broke the ice with a splash which doused the marshal to the knees. Matt pulled up on the reins and directed the horse to follow the fence line. Abe and Dirch weren't there but Matt hadn't expected them to be, not in this weather. A few minutes later he came upon the section of fence which had been cut.

Matt studied the ground; the storm had obscured everything except for what might have been a boot print and one or two blurred horse shoe imprints. Casting out into the meadow from the fence line, he spotted the faint impressions of more tracks. The dairy herd had been driven onto Abe's land and the horses run off onto Dirch's. Matt nodded in grim satisfaction as the evidence confirmed his earlier suspicions. The outlaws wouldn't have known that the Johnsons and Carpenters had reached a peaceable agreement and had tried to make it look as if the families had crossed one another. _Which one to follow? I'm going to lose one set of tracks in the storm._ A short excursion down the fence line revealed that the horses had re-crossed onto their own land and were likely headed for their home barn. Matt elected to follow the dairy herd.

He found the herd nearly two miles away, huddled in the bottom of a draw. The occasional tracks in the snow told the marshal that several men on horseback had driven them there and then scattered them. If he left them in the draw, they probably would not survive the storm. While he found Dirch Carpenter's antics annoying, Matt didn't wish to see him financially ruined. Matt would have to drive the cattle back to their barn. Sighing, he spurred Buck toward the herd. "That's it, boy, round 'em up!"

The cattle, unwilling to remain in such a cold and hostile place, willingly plodded in front of the marshal's horse as he herded them back toward the Carpenter homestead. Approaching the sod house with smoke curling invitingly out of the chimney, Matt found Dirch waiting for him. "Ah, marshal," he said, smiling, "you've brought back m'herd. Abe's horses are over to th' barn. They came back their ownselves." He uttered a piercing whistle, which caused Matt to wince, and one of the younger boys appeared at his elbow. "Take 'em on back to the barn, Dobie. Come in, Marshal, and have a cup of coffee with me an' the missus."

Afflicted as he was with chills that shook his body so hard he thought he'd fall out of the saddle, Matt wished he could have taken Dirch up on his offer. A good cup of coffee would chase the cold from his veins and make him feel better. However, Matt doubted if he dismounted he would be able to get back on the buckskin so easily. He shook his head and smiled regretfully. "No, thanks, Dirch. I've got to get back to town."

He turned Buck around and headed him back home, toward Dodge. Facing into the wind, the big buckskin struggled against the stinging snowflakes. Buck's head hung so low Matt feared the animal would trip over the reins; he gathered them up in his hands as far as he could without pulling the horse's head back. It was getting difficult for him to sit upright in the saddle; the doubled vision impaired his balance, while the ringing in his ears coupled with increasing waves of nausea distorted his perception.

Confused by the conflicting signals given by his rider, Buck pranced uncertainly in circles. Finally Matt reined him up beneath a sheltering grove of cottonwoods. Even bare of leaves, the thick trunks and sprawling branches offered relief from the tearing wind. The marshal had a pressing need to get out of the saddle; he couldn't stand the rocking motions any longer. He slid down, one hand grasping the saddle horn and the other clenching a fistful of Buck's mane. Matt rested his forehead against the buckskin's neck as he tried to take deep breaths and fend off the nausea. Instead, a violent fit of coughing bent him double.

Buck whiffled anxiously and snaked his neck back to nuzzle his rider. Matt patted him half heartedly, fumbled in his vest pocket for the dried apple slices he kept for the horse, and gave Buck one. "Good old son," Matt muttered. He took a few staggering steps away from the buckskin and, clutching his stomach, sank to his knees in the snow. The will to fight against his illness had been exhausted; he let the nausea take him as he heaved up the remains of his meager breakfast.

Matt didn't know how long he knelt there gasping, heaving, and trying to get himself back under control. He _did_ know he was in real trouble now; he couldn't imagine getting back into the saddle without injuring both himself and possibly Buck as well. Scooping up a handful of snow, Matt scrubbed it over his burning face. It did help clear his head a little.

The horse had not wandered far at all; he stood only a few feet away from his master grazing contentedly on some dry winter grass he had pawed through the snow to get at. Matt whistled for him and he came willingly, standing calmly with the reins dangling over the side of his neck. On the third try, the marshal finally managed to get up off his knees. He lurched against the buckskin's side and frantically grabbed at the saddle horn so he wouldn't fall again. Matt missed getting his foot in the stirrup, tried again, and somehow regained the saddle.

He realized immediately he couldn't possibly ride like this. The landscape danced and wavered around him at uncertain angles. _Buck mustn't trip over the reins_. He fumbled with them until he had the reins tied securely around the saddle horn. Sprawled forward across the buckskin's thick neck, he wrapped his arms around Buck and gave the horse his head. "Take us home, Buck, back to Dodge."


	13. Chapter 13

Hard Promises to Keep

**Hard Promises to Keep**

**Author's Note: **If you're confused about the appearance of the little girl Rose and why she calls the marshal "Papa Matt", keep an eye on "_Rose in December_." Most of my stories are related to one another through small details like that one.

**All characters are copyright to CBS, I'm just borrowing them.**

"_You better believe I'm coming_

_You better believe what I say_

_You better hold on to your promises_

_Because you bet you'll get what you deserve"_

**-- **"Promises" performed by The Cranberries

**Chapter 13**

Newly was on his way to the marshal's office when he saw Buck plodding up the street with the semi-conscious marshal sprawled across his back. For a moment, appalled by Matt's condition, the deputy simply stared. The stirrups hung loose and empty at the horse's sides and Matt, coughing weakly, lay slumped forward with his arms around the buckskin's thick neck and his long, strong fingers entwined in Buck's mane. "Marshal! Marshal, are you all right?"

"Been better," Matt mumbled. "Just get us off the street before someone sees us, would you?"

"Sure thing, Marshal," replied Newly, confusion written on his face. He grabbed Buck's bridle and led the horse around behind the jail. Matt couldn't make his foot find the stirrup. Newly caught the marshal as he fell, guided him down off the buckskin's back, and then took him inside. Matt lurched over to his cot, then sat there, head down, with one arm pressed tightly against his stomach and the other gripping the edge of the thin mattress. "I thought you weren't supposed to be up and around yet."

Matt straightened with effort, smothering another cough, and said, "I had some business which couldn't wait." He waved a hand toward his desk, where the telegrams and dispatches he had been sorting through still lay. "There's some things you should know about the Whitaker gang."

"Festus and I already knew about that. A wire came the day you took sick warning that they were in the area and we spotted their point men skulking around town. We kept an eye on them but they haven't done anything to make it worth arresting them. It's been a couple of weeks now, I think they plan to give Dodge a pass."

"You're wrong about that, Newly. Take a look," Matt urged. "Trouble's coming and it's going to find Dodge." While his deputy looked over the papers he indicated, Matt told him about the incident with Johnson and Carpenter livestock, the fence cutting Festus was investigating, and the squabbles which had cropped up around town.

Newly gave a low whistle when he'd finished reading the dispatches and telegrams. His instincts concurred with the marshal's assessment but he wasn't certain there was much else he could do until the gang did try something; he'd already said as much. "Festus should be back soon. I'll tell him about it, talk to some of the menfolk around town and tell 'em to be watchful."

Matt nodded and then, regretting the motion, grabbed defensively at his head. His vision blurred, shrank to a pinpoint of light, and then jerked back to normal accompanied by another surge of nausea. Groaning, he leaned back against the cold brick wall. "Sounds like a plan," he managed.

"You look terrible, Marshal. You should be in bed," Newly observed, concerned. "I could go get Doc…."

"No, no, I'm all right. I was going back to bed as soon as I'd spoken to you about the Whitaker gang." He hated to ask for help but he couldn't deny he needed it. "Could you just put Buck away and get me back to the Long Branch?" Matt summoned a ghost of his usual lopsided smile. "Preferably _without_ its owner finding out I've been gone?"

"I think we can manage that, Marshal," Newly said, laughing. He knew that Miss Kitty would rip them both to shreds with the sharp side of her tongue if she found out…but she'd have to catch them first and he had no intention of getting caught.

By moving cautiously but behaving as though nothing were wrong, the two men made their way to the Long Branch unnoticed. Newly helped Matt up the back stairs and then left him at the door to Kitty's suite. "Thanks, Newly," said Matt. "I owe you one."

"I'll go take care of Buck now." Newly touched the brim of his hat and smiled like a mischievous boy. "Just don't let Miss Kitty catch on. She'll skin us both."

"You don't have to tell me!"

The door to Kitty's suite was, of course, unlocked since she hadn't expected the marshal to go anywhere. Matt went inside and stashed his jacket and vest back where he had found them. The last item to be surrendered was his badge, which he reluctantly placed on Kitty's vanity. Matt felt somehow vulnerable without it, but he knew that if he left it on, Kitty would likely figure out what he had been up to and then she would _really_ be upset. He didn't, however, think Kitty would be too mad about him getting partially dressed; she'd likely take it as a sign his health was improving. Matt wished that had been the case; with his hammering head, churning stomach, and the wet heaviness in his chest, he felt worse than ever. He pulled out his shirttails, loosened his belt, and wearily tugged off his boots. Within moments of lying down, he had fallen asleep.

Matt awakened at dusk. His inner clock suggested that several hours had passed. Soft shadows painted the room and the sounds of a waking town drifted up from Front Street. Someone -- _Probably Sam,_ he thought for he would surely have awakened if Kitty had been anywhere near him -- had lit the little lamp on the night table next to the bed. Beside it was a covered tray, the contents of which were still warm. Matt shuddered; he didn't want food, couldn't even stand looking at it.

Cold and shivering, the marshal drowsily reached for the quilt at the bottom of the bed, dragged it over him, and nestled into the comforting warmth. A man who, owing to the nature of his job, was rarely allowed the luxury of a peaceful and uninterrupted night's rest, Matt enjoyed the novel sensation of safety and contentment. The distant murmur of Kitty's dulcet voice occasionally heard above the plaintive notes of Sam's fiddle and a guitar soothed him. He allowed himself to relax back into sleep.

A subtle change in the tone of the sounds emanating from downstairs -- perhaps a shift in pitch from conversational to fear or the sudden cessation of the fiddle in the middle of a song -- pulled Matt instantly awake and alert for trouble. He didn't know what the trouble was, but he knew with absolute certainty that there _was _trouble. Throwing back the quilt, Matt ignored the vertigo and sat up. As he was reaching for his boots, he clearly heard the discharge of a shotgun. The shotgun could only have belonged to Sam and Matt knew he wouldn't have used it unless someone had posed a direct threat to Kitty or one of the girls.

His mind working purely on reflex, he snatched up his badge and pinned it on. Matt automatically reached for his gun belt…**and found it hanging on its customary peg, right where it should have belonged.** He clearly recalled not being able to find it when he went out earlier and that meant only one thing. _She knows._ Matt didn't have time to process the possible repercussions of that discovery because it sounded like someone downstairs was focused on tearing the Long Branch apart. Kitty's angry words carried to him as he finished buckling the gun belt and eased out onto the balcony.

"…think you're doing!" she was yelling at the tall, impeccably dressed man who had her pinned against the bar. "All of you get out of here now!"

Matt restrained the urge to rush blindly down and rescue Kitty from that man. He didn't recognize him but he recognized the type. _Most likely a procurer of young women for the pleasure houses in New Orleans or Saint Louis. But what would he want with Kitty; and if there's a problem with one of her girls, why didn't she tell me?_ The probable occupations of the men with him would have needed no lawman's powers of deduction. The two literally tearing the place apart piece by piece were plainly strongmen and hired guns. He could take them, Matt knew, as long as he didn't allow them to grapple or get a wrestling hold on him. Such men were generally fair to middling with their guns and certainly couldn't draw fast enough to beat a seasoned lawman like the marshal. _Now that fourth man, the one covering Kitty with his gun, he's the one to worry about._

The ease, almost casual, with which that one held the big revolver told Matt he was dealing with an experienced gunfighter. Not many out here could afford to own a Merwin & Hulberts; Matt had only seen them in catalog illustrations. That meant the gunfighter had to be none other than Kip "Skullcrusher" O'Malley. He'd gotten the nickname because he enjoyed pistol whipping his victims with the point, known by the same name, on the butt of his revolver. Well, that explained why Sam was unconscious at Kitty's feet. _I hope he's still alive._

Matt weighed his options; he didn't seem to have many. This had all the makings of a carefully planned confrontation and he didn't believe the assailants would have left the rear entrance to the Long Branch unguarded. Had he been healthy, Matt might have considered going out one of Kitty's windows and climbing down to the street level but with his disrupted sense of balance and skewed visual perception he knew that wouldn't be a smart choice. _If the fall didn't kill me outright, the noise would attract their attention._ He didn't want that, as it was just possible they didn't know he was up here. _Where the heck are Festus and Newly? They had to have heard the shots._

A slight movement back toward the office caught his attention: Festus, hiding in the shadows of the doorway and looking toward the batwing doors. Matt followed his gaze and spotted Newly. The men down in the Long Branch were so intent on getting whatever they wanted that none of them had noticed the lawmen closing in. The slight nod each deputy gave told Matt they knew he was here and were waiting for further instructions. With the odds now slightly in their favor, Matt flashed them a hand sign signaling them to stay put while he moved closer to the stairs going down into the saloon. From that vantage, and using the thick support post as cover, he could better hear what was going on.

"…apologize for my boys' behavior," the suited man was saying in a deceptively mild tone. "They can be a tad overenthusiastic in performance of their duties."

"Yeah," Kitty snapped back, her voice rich with sarcasm, "and I can see you're just all broken up over it."

In a seemingly intimate gesture, the man curled his fingers around Kitty's wrist and pulled her to him. Matt could tell, however, by the firm set of her mouth and the way her body tensed that the grip probably hurt her. "I'd have expected better manners out of a well born woman, my dear. We'll have no more of that kind of talk, understand?" He gestured to the gunman. "Otherwise, I fear I will have to ask Kip here to instruct you as to what behavior properly befits a woman of your upbringing. I do not think you will enjoy his teaching methods. Now, Red, you have something which belongs to me and I strongly suggest you return it immediately. I want the girl."

Kitty wrenched out of his grip and put as much distance between them as the close confines would allow. She cradled the injured wrist against her breast and spat at him, "Well, we don't always get what we want, do we? I won't let you have her. I know what you do with those girls. You're nothing but a filthy, perverted coward!"

He moved faster than Matt would have thought possible for such a heavyset man. In a blur of motion, the man dug his fingers into Kitty's shoulders and began shaking her. A small, high pitched mewl of terror escaped her lips before she bit down on them and refused to make another sound. "I told you, no one talks to Reginald Westfeldt in that manner! Now do keep a civil tongue in your head."

"You want I ought to give her a lesson or two now, sir?" O'Malley asked. The smile he turned on the redheaded saloon owner held a kind of malicious joy mingled with lust and he stroked the butt of his weapon with his thumb.

Matt tensed. _If he touches Kitty, I won't bother with the Colt. I'll kill him with my bare hands!_ Unfortunately, the lawman was better at calculating the odds than the lover and he knew it for the losing move it was. _I'd need a clear shot at O'Malley and I don't have one._

Westfeldt held up a placating white gloved hand. "Not just now, Kip. You may have her later but do try to save her looks. She'll need some refining but by the time I've finished with her she'll make an excellent house mother for my girls."

"As you wish, sir," responded O'Malley. He caressed Kitty's cheek with the muzzle of his weapon. "I'm going to enjoy teaching you some manners, Red. You might even learn to like it."

"Don't you touch me!" Kitty brought her hand back and slapped the gunfighter. "I'm not going anywhere with you or him."

The blow Westfeldt administered rocked her head back on her shoulders. Kitty fell to her knees, stifling a sob and refusing to give him the satisfaction of crying. Westfeldt twisted one of her arms behind her back. "Get up, Miss Russell. It ill becomes a woman of your station to lie weeping on the floor like a common scullery maid. I grow tired of your games. Give me the girl!"

"She isn't here," Kitty responded sullenly.

Westfeldt, still holding Kitty's arm behind her back, lifted her clear of the floor. "I'm no longer inclined to be so nice about this. Tell me where she is."

"I don't know, I don't know!" Kitty sobbed. "You're hurting me!"

The sound of running footsteps distracted Matt from the tableau below. He looked back in the direction of the girls' rooms and saw a young raven haired woman coming toward him. Holding tightly to her hand was a little girl with penny bright red-gold hair. Matt groaned. _This just couldn't possibly get any worse. The _last _thing I need is a hostage situation_.

The little girl, with the guilelessness typical of youngsters, spotted Matt crouched near the top of the stairs and piped up, "Papa Matt, what you doin' out here in your jammies?" Her rose petal lips poked out in a pout -- _She sure takes after Kitty_, Matt thought -- and, placing her hands on her little hips, she pinned the marshal with a scolding glare worthy of her grown-up role model. "You's 'posed to be in bed. Miss Kitty said so."

"Rosie honey," Matt said desperately, keeping his voice low and hoping no one below would notice them, "do Papa Matt a favor. You…you go on back to your room and stay there until I or Miss Kitty tells you to come back out and then I promise I'll go back to bed. All right?"

"All right, Papa Matt," the child agreed. "C'mon, Fancy, let's go play with my dollie."

"Take her back to her room and _stay_ there no matter what happens," Matt hissed at the saloon girl.

"Cain't do that, Marshal," Fancy replied with a sad, depreciatory smile. "It's my fault Master Westfeldt is here an' his hired men is a-wreckin' Miss Kitty's place. If'n I go down, he might leave her alone." She stroked Rose's hair and said to the little girl, "You do what the Marshal asks now, y'hear?" With a nod, Rose headed back down the hall.

Matt sighed in relief. _My little girl will be safe now. One less complication._ A bead of sweat rolled down into his eyes as his vision blurred. Matt wrapped his hand around one of the stair posts to keep from tumbling down the stairs. _Damn this fever anyway. I can't shoot straight if I can't _see. "You're not going down to him, Fancy," Matt insisted, his voice steely. "Now go back to your room and let me and my deputies take care of this mess."

A second cry of pain from Kitty lanced through Matt's heart as though it had been a Comanche arrow. He saw Festus slide up to the doorway behind the bar and Newly edging around the batwing doors. With a brusque gesture, Matt told both of them to maintain their positions.

Had he not been distracted by preventing his deputies from springing the trap too early, Fancy could never have gotten past him. It didn't take much. A light pressure on his shoulder with the palm of her hand put him off balance and by the time he'd recovered Fancy was already downstairs.

"Master Westfeldt." She made her voice soft and seductive, guaranteed to capture the lecher's attention…and rile up anyone of the male persuasion, for that matter.

Westfeldt eyed her appreciatively. "You've improved upon yourself since I last saw you, my dear."

"Thank you, m'lord." She sketched a curtsey and then sidled up to him, exuding erotic charm and promises. "I'll go back with you. Why don't you leave her alone? She's a little…old…for your tastes anyhow."

Westfeldt let go of Kitty, who ignored her own injuries and began tending to the still unconscious Sam. The procurer twined a proprietary arm around Fancy's slender waist and said, "Well, now, darling, you know I can't possibly do that. We need a good woman of her breeding to teach you wildcats how to behave."

Fancy tilted her head up as Westfeldt brought his mouth down on hers for a kiss….

All hell broke loose.

The saloon girl bit down hard on Westfeldt's lip and, as he roared in pain and pulled away, she kicked his knee out from under him. With a strong push, Fancy sent him reeling back into O'Malley.

"Hey, watch it!" O'Malley cried as his gun arm was jostled.

_Now. There won't be a better time._

Taking advantage of the chaos, Matt motioned for his deputies to engage the two hired guns. Festus and Newly got in there so quickly the bruisers never had time to unholster their guns. The two of them began trading blows with the strongmen. The first of Matt's shots went wide, but it still missed Westfeldt's head by mere inches. The procurer fished out a Derringer, discharged both shots wildly and then exclaimed, "I believe I shall exercise the better part of valor for now but this isn't over, Miss Russell. We _will _meet again." He was gone out of the saloon before Matt could adjust his aim and fire a second shot.

"You won't find me so easy to rile, Dillon," O'Malley yelled. "C'mon out of the shadows and fight me proper."

"Lay down the gun, you're under arrest," Matt grated. "You're the last one standing and your boss has deserted you." Vertigo and dizziness slammed into the marshal. His hand trembled and he involuntarily lowered his Colt. Matt saw the barrel of O'Malley's gun coming up for a shot just a split second too late. He corrected his aim and squeezed off a shot, all the while aware that there was no possible way he could completely avoid taking a bullet.

Matt thought he heard O'Malley scream as the impact carried him backward and his world dissolved into darkness.


	14. Chapter 14

Hard Promises to Keep

**Hard Promises to Keep**

**All characters are copyright to CBS, I'm just borrowing them.**

**Author's Note**: Beef tea was one of the most recommended supportive foods for critically ill patients in the 19th century. It was made by cutting up a lean piece of beef into dice-sized cubes, pouring a pint of cold water over it, and allowing it to sit beside the fire for ten minutes. Sometimes the contents were placed in a water bath and brought to a boil before being set aside to cool. The fats were skimmed and solids removed. The resulting liquid contained several nutritional components which were easily absorbed by those with severely debilitated systems and could be seasoned to taste with salt and medicinal spices like ginger or cayenne pepper. Additionally, if blood had been lost, marrow bones might be added as it as thought the marrow aided in blood replacement.

"_You come for me in the worst of places_

_You come for me, you come and try to take me home_

_I'm always in need and it's hard to be reciprocating_

_The fabric of our life gets torn"_

**-- **"Everybody Knows" performed by Ryan Adams

**Chapter 14**

A deathly silence permeated the Long Branch along with the bluish haze of gun smoke. Sounds registered first: the wail of an upset child, the stifled sobs of several saloon girls, murmurs from patrons as they began crawling out of their hiding places to right the tables and chairs. Kitty cautiously lifted her head and anxiously scanned the room. She had instinctively thrown herself prone, protecting Sam, when the shooting started and hadn't been able to tell what had happened to the marshal.

_She didn't see him anywhere._

Fear wrapped itself around her heart like a fist and squeezed.

_He couldn't be dead. He just couldn't._

Sam groaned and opened his eyes. "Miss Kitty?"

"Here, Sam," she answered, keeping her voice calm and steady. "Everything will be all right." _Will it? What am I going to do if Matt's gone? What will I tell Rose?_ "You took a pretty bad blow to the head. Just lie still until Doc gets here." She wondered if anyone had had the presence of mind to send for him yet. To give her hands something to do, Kitty deftly bandaged the profusely bleeding cut on the back of Sam's head with strips torn from her petticoat. Her wrist ached; she stared at the dark bruises coming up on her fair skin and wondered if Westfeldt had broken it.

Sam, ignoring Kitty's protests, sat up and pulled himself into a nearby chair. "Stop frettin' at me, Miss Kitty. I'll be all right. It takes more than scum like that to keep me down. You see to the Marshal."

Kitty followed the direction of Sam's slight nod and finally spotted the marshal. _He's alive!_ One of the overturned tables, which her girls had righted and moved aside, had hidden him from view. Matt sat at the foot of the stairs where he'd fallen, his long legs folded up under him like an ungainly newborn colt. Blood seeped up steadily from between the fingers of his hand, which were closed over a wound high on his left arm. The expression on his face reminded Kitty of a boy with skinned knees who wanted badly to cry but knew he was too old to do so.

Kitty stood, brushed off her skirt, and assumed a more businesslike composure. "You girls, help Rudy get this mess cleaned up. Rudy, let's have drinks on the house. I think we could all use one."

As her saloon girls hastened to obey her directives, Kitty hurried to Matt and knelt beside him. His eyes, when she looked into them, were glazed and unfocused; her uninjured hand gently brushed against his cheek. "Matt. Matt, let me see. Is it bad?"

Matt made an effort to control his voice and tried to reassure her but his answer still came out as a raspy, pain soaked whisper. "Just a graze. Nothing worth worrying over. Are you all right, Kitty?"

"Oh, I'm just dandy," Kitty responded. Relief and continued concern for Matt's wellbeing made her voice sharper than intended.

His gaze drifted to the bruises on her wrist. "You're hurt."

"So are you," said Kitty, noting how much blood had soaked his sleeve. "That's more than a graze, Matt." She sighed as she tore more strips from her petticoat. _I don't know why I bother wearing these damned things. They always seem to get torn up!_ She bound up the wound to slow the bleeding and used another scrap to wipe his hand clean. "You hold that there," she said. "I'm sure Doc will be along directly."

"Where are Festus and Newly?"

"Newly's over to the jail locking up the two ruffians who were tearing up the place. I think Festus lit out after Westfeldt and O'Malley."

"There's something you're not telling me."

She couldn't meet his eyes, didn't want to see the self recrimination in them because she knew he would take what she had to tell him hard. Still, there was no way to keep it from him. "They got Fancy."

Ignoring the pain and how ill he felt, Matt shoved his back up against the wall and tried to rise. He couldn't manage it and fell against the stairway panting. "I…I gotta…."

"Just what do you think you're doing?" Kitty asked sharply.

He pulled himself to his knees and managed to wrap the hand of his uninjured arm around the banister. In another moment, Matt was standing, although none too steadily. "I'm going after them. Have someone bring my horse around."

Kitty got awkwardly to her feet and put a stabilizing arm around the big man's waist. She was dreadfully afraid he would fall. "Matt, no. This is foolishness. You can't sit a horse, you can barely stand! Sit back down before you hurt yourself."

Matt was a proud man, duty bound and conscientious of his obligations, but he wasn't stupid. He knew he couldn't ride. Telling himself he was giving in for Kitty's sake, he let her guide him to the bottom riser where the two of them sat leaning against one another. Matt lowered his head to Kitty's shoulder. "I had to try, Kitty."

Kitty allowed the fingers of her uninjured hand to twine though Matt's wild curls. "I know you did." She had the distinct impression he wasn't talking just about going after Westfeldt and O'Malley.

"Mad at me?" Matt asked softly.

"Simply furious!" The love and devotion in her blue eyes gave the lie to the furor in her voice. A fond smile curved her lips as she patted his thigh. "You and I will be talking about this later, though."

A bone rattling cough shook the big man and he moaned, leaning harder against her. "Kitty, I…I really don't feel right."

Kitty sighed, debating whether or not she ought to say something to Doc Adams about Matt's earlier antics. _The last thing Matt needs right now is a good chewing out but Doc's too smart not to notice he's in worse shape than a bullet graze would account for._ She covered her worry with anger. "Where the heck _is_ Doc? He ought to have been here by now."

The batwing doors slammed open with unnecessary force and the physician shuffled his way down into the Long Branch. Kitty watched Doc conversing briefly with Sam as he examined the man, saw the bartender nod and then head for his room. The dour little doctor then turned his professional attention to the redheaded proprietress of the Long Branch and the marshal.

_Just great,_ Kitty thought as she saw the expression on Doc's face, _he's spoiling for a fight. Wonder what's got him all riled up. _

"Nice of you to join us, Doc," Matt greeted.

Doc glanced quickly at Matt and figured he must not be too bad of if he was using that dry wit of his. "Ran into a couple of your friends," Doc responded cryptically. "The big fat fella insisted I patch up his gunfighter pal before they left town."

Matt's eyes had gone cold and stony. "They got away then."

"You plugged him good, Matt," Doc said. "Rather doubt O'Malley will be shooting with it any time soon, if he can at all."

"That doesn't matter," Matt persisted. "My aim was off. I meant to _kill_ him!" The vehemence of his protest ended in a bitten back yowl of pain as he inadvertently flexed the torn muscles. Kitty tried to comfort him but her own injury prevented her from doing so.

Doc rolled his eyes and swiped at his mustache. "The pair of you!" he exclaimed in mock disgust. "Think you can make it back up the stairs?"

Kitty's smile was strained but her voice reflected the relief she felt that Matt was alive and that Doc was there to set things right. "We'll do just fine. C'mon, Matt," she said, gently assisting him to his feet.

With Doc's help, the two of them got the big man back to Kitty's suite. Matt wouldn't have told either of them, but he had never been so glad to see a bed. Doc wanted to attend to the bullet wound first, but Matt stubbornly refused. "See to Kitty first," he insisted, reclining back on the pillows. "I'll do."

"Right, right," Doc Adams responded, miffed, "and I suppose in order to get everything done around here, I simply _must_ do it your way because of course _you know better_ than your physician! Kitty, let me see that arm of yours."

"It doesn't bother me much," Kitty protested but refrained from arguing further with him when she saw the storm clouds gathering in his eyes. _No point in aggravating him when he's in a mood like this._

"Well," said Doc a few minutes later as he bound up the wrist, "you've been lucky, young lady. It's bruised down to the bone, but I don't think it's broken." He finished tying off the bindings and then gently laid the hand back in her lap. "There, that ought to feel better."

Kitty nodded and favored the cranky old doctor with a small smile. "It does. Thanks, Doc." She turned slightly and pinned the marshal with a no-nonsense glare. "Your turn, Matt, and no fuss. You'll let Doc do what he needs to do."

Matt, in no condition to give either of them a hard time, gave a slight nod. "Yes, ma'am," he said with apparent meekness but a boyish smile played around in his eyes.

"You!" Doc Adams grumped, by no means appeased. "I would have _sworn_ I've told you twice now not to step foot out of these rooms or that bed. You got an allergy to living or something, Matt? Good heavens -- traipsing around half dressed, getting shot at! You're lucky to still be breathing."

Matt understood that he had badly frightened his friend. Touched by the old physician's show of emotion, he said quietly, "I know it, Doc."

"Hmmph." In spite of his irritation at the marshal, the doctor's hands were very gentle as he removed the makeshift bandage. Fresh blood welled up as soon as the pressure was released and Matt paled. Doc Adams doused his hands with alcohol, rinsed them in the basin Kitty had provided, and jerked his head toward a small surgical pack. "Sterilize the rest of those for me, would you, honey?" He didn't wait for her to acknowledge his request, knowing Kitty would do exactly what he had asked, and turned his attention back to Matt. The old man's fingers nimbly reached for a probe and expertly assessed the damage. Matt bore the digging stoically until Doc Adams hit a particularly tender spot. "That hurts, does it?" he asked.

"Yeah," panted Matt, raising his eyes toward the ceiling, "it does. What are you using, Doc, a spade?"

"Is it bad?" Kitty asked.

"Bad enough," Doc responded. "The bullet might have creased or chipped the bone. I'm gonna have take the bullet out and then stitch this up, Matt. You want something for it?"

Matt, in spite of Kitty's piercing expression of disapproval, shook his head. "I already feel bad enough. Don't give me any more laudanum or put me under. Just get it over with."

"It's your hide." Doc's acidic response lacked its usual venom, for he knew how much the marshal hated experiencing the side effects of the anesthetic and painkillers. _Besides, he's in bad enough shape. I'm not sure it would be medically sound to give him anything else._

When Doc poured alcohol into the wound and began flushing it, Matt winced but did not cry out. He bit his lip and his complexion became steadily greyer as Doc pried the bullet from its resting place against the bone. Finally, unable to take the pain any longer, his eyes rolled closed and Matt went limp.

"Doc?" Kitty questioned anxiously.

"Oh he's all right, Kitty," Doc said confidently as he dropped the projectile into the basin. "He's just passed out. It's probably easier on him if he's not aware of what I'm doing." The old physician carefully stitched the last layer closed and then tied on a clean bandage. Finished tending the wound, Doc automatically checked Matt's vitals. "He looks thin. He been eating anything, Kitty?"

Kitty shook her head. "Not much. He'll take a few spoonfuls of broth and then says he's had enough. Both Sam and Festus said Matt hasn't even tried to eat the past few days. Doc, can't you cut back on the quinine, let him get some of his appetite back?"

"Well no, Kitty, I can't," Doc replied, tugging at his ear in agitation. "The quinine is the only thing keeping the pneumonia in check. If the infection gets into both lungs, we could lose him. But you're right; Matt needs to be eating something. You know how to make a beef tea?"

"I can," Kitty said slowly, "and I've got the ingredients for it in the kitchen downstairs."

"Good," said Doc. "You fix up a batch of that and feed it to him a little at a time, even if he doesn't want to eat. Add a few marrow bones as well, if he tolerates it; that'll help build up some of the blood Matt's lost. He might fever up a bit; you know how it is with wounds like these. If you run into anything you can't handle, come get me." Looking at the two people whose lives he valued most in the world, Doc Adam's expression changed to one of fatherly tenderness. He hadn't the words to tell either of them how scared he'd been, how worried for their safety, and how guilty he'd felt about being delayed by the ones who had injured them. Doc caught Kitty looking at him, studying his face, and quickly assumed his customary scowl. "Now, if it's not too much trouble, I'd appreciate it if the two of you would stay out of mischief for a day or so. I'm going to get some sleep!"

Kitty, struck by the oddly chosen words, placed a hand on Doc Adam's arm. "Just how much _do_ you know about what went on today?" she asked.

"I know enough," growled Doc as he put his crumpled black hat back on. "Enough to know that a certain redhead ended up going for a swim in the horse trough yesterday because she couldn't keep her mouth shut. Enough to know that the overgrown stallion our high and mighty marshal usually favors seems to have taken a stroll out on the prairie all by his lonesome and come back exhausted. Oh, I know enough all right! Good heavens, the lot of you give me conniption fits! Good night!"

"Good night, Curley," Kitty said, chuckling, as she kissed him on the cheek and closed the door. She called one of her girls in and explained what needed done in the kitchen and then, seeing Matt was still unconscious or asleep, took a few minutes to look in on their surrogate daughter.

Rose, sitting quietly amid the pillows on her bed, dropped the doll she had been clutching so tightly and launched herself at Kitty as soon as she saw her. "Miss Kitty, I'm so glad you came! Papa Matt told me to stay in here until one of you came an' got me."

"Papa Matt's a smart man." _Most of the time, anyway._ "It was very good of you to do like he said and I'm proud of you. Everything's all right now," Kitty assured her, stroking the little girl's bright curls. _Almost. Maybe she won't ask about Matt._

"Good!" Rose said. She grabbed her doll and ran over to the love seat. "Come sit with me," she ordered. Kitty obligingly did as the little one asked and they spent a few minutes together straightening the doll's clothes and hair. "I heard guns an' I was awful scared. Did Papa Matt get those bad men, Miss Kitty?"

"Not exactly. Your Uncle Festus is out chasing them on Ruth."

"Oh. Unca Festus'll get those mean men, won't he? But...was Papa Matt hurt _again_?" Rose asked, her green eyes serious.

_Damn Matt and his badge anyway! She's getting to be too smart for her own good; there are some things a child just shouldn't have to worry about. How to answer that one? _ Kitty finally decided that some version of the truth was the only acceptable response. "Yeah, he was," she told Rose, "but only a little bit and he'll be just fine. You'll see. Grandpa Doc patched him up, just like I do your dolly when she gets a rip."

"Papa Matt should've stayed in bed like he was 'sposed to," Rose declared, frowning.

"He sure should have!" Kitty agreed with a shaky laugh as she hugged the little girl. "Have you had your supper?"

Rose nodded. "Mr. Sam brought it up and Fancy ate with me. Is Fancy gonna put me to bed?"

The question pricked Kitty's conscience; she had been so worried about Matt that she had momentarily forgotten that Westfeldt took Fancy with him. _I sure hope Festus comes back with her even if he _never_ catches Westfeldt_. "Not tonight, Rosie," she responded, "but one of the other girls should be up directly." Kitty kissed the top of Rose's head and stood. "Now I've got to get back to Papa Matt. You be a good girl, all right?"

"I will; I promise." The girl reached up to give Kitty a tight little hug, "I still wish you'd a let me call you Mama Kitty."

Kitty rolled her eyes skyward and helped Rose stretch out with her dolly so she could be tucked in, "Well, Rosie, we've covered that territory already. Not now --or ever-- will I be known as Mama Kitty. Now go to sleep!" She tickled Rose's tummy and prepared to exit the room.

"Miss Kitty?"

Kitty sighed inwardly; she loved the little girl but sometimes being a parent was awfully demanding. "One more question, Rose," she admonished, "and then I really must go."

"Can I go back with you and visit Papa Matt?"

Rose hadn't been allowed to see the marshal since he'd gotten sick. At first, Doctor Adams had feared her coming down with the same illness; later, he and Kitty had agreed it would be less upsetting for the child if she didn't see Matt while he was so ill. It was on the tip of Kitty's tongue to tell her no, but the mute appeal in her daughter's eyes changed that. "Perhaps tomorrow, if he's feeling up to it. Let's let him rest for now, okay?"

If that wasn't the answer she had been looking for, Rose didn't show it. Instead, she smiled and said. "All right. G'night."

"Good night, sweetheart."

Kitty walked slowly back to her suite, her heart thoughtful. As she approached the bed, Matt opened his eyes and smiled sleepily. "Hello, beautiful."

She took his hand carefully in hers and smiled back. "How are you feeling, Matt?"

"Like hell," he conceded candidly. Chagrin showed plainly in his eyes. "I don't think you'll have any problems convincing me to stay in bed for a while."

A wry smile quirked her lips. "Your daughter told me to tell you in no uncertain terms that you should have stayed there in the first place."

Matt's chuckle turned into another spasm of coughing. He waited for it to subside before he responded. "She's all right?"

Kitty nodded. "The gunshots frightened her, but she said _you_ told her to go into her room and stay there until one of us said it was safe again."

"I did. Fancy was bringing her downstairs when the ruckus broke out. If I hadn't told her to go back to her room, Westfeldt would have had her too." His face showed regret. "I wish I could have stopped Fancy; I tried!"

"Do you think Festus will be able to bring her back?"

"I'd stake my life on it. There's nobody better for the job, Kitty, you know that." He squeezed her hand and said, "Don't worry; like as not, she'll be back before anyone notices she's gone."

Kitty softly bit at her bottom lip, "For Rosie's sake, I hope that's true."

A polite knock at the door sounded. Kitty rose and answered it. A vivacious blond, whom Kitty recalled being quite popular with her customers because of her unusually curvy proportions, stood in the hall. "Miss Kitty, I have the broth you asked for. I prepared it exactly as you told me."

"Thanks, Vera, I appreciate it. How's Sam doing?"

"Well, he wouldn't do like Doc told him and go to bed for the rest of the night but we girls did persuade him to just _sit_ behind the bar and let us do most of the work." Vera rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Men!"

"Tell me about it," said Kitty with an enigmatic smile. She put her hand on the woman's arm. "Vera, I'd be grateful if you'd take care of Rose tonight. Normally I'd be asking Fancy to do this, but…"

"It's all right, Miss Kitty, I understand. Besides, Rosie never gives any of us trouble. She's a sweet child." Vera tilted her head as if considering whether or not to ask her next question. Curiosity won out. "Is she yours and the Marshal's, Miss Kitty?"

The inquiry caught Kitty off guard; many of the townspeople had, of course, speculated on Rose's parentage but most had eventually assumed she belonged to one of Kitty's girls. Although Kitty and Matt had never actually made any clear statements regarding their positions on marriage, having children, and raising them at the Long Branch years ago, the citizen of Dodge had, years ago, formed their own hodge-podge of conclusions. Yet, no matter what those conclusions might have been, no one had ever been bold enough to step up to them and outright _ask_. Vera, however, had only been in Dodge short of a year and apparently was truly innocent and unaware of how far down a private road she'd ventured, or at what risk.

After holding Vera in a long, probing stare --that ended only when Vera was forced to drop her gaze --Kitty allowed a hint of a smile to curve her lips. "No," said Kitty wistfully, "but she could have been. Rose is family of a sort and that's all anyone needs to know." Kitty laid a gentle hand on Vera's arm. "Thanks for taking care of things for me, Vera."

Kitty watched the woman go downstairs. The regulars, mostly farmers and ranch hands, greeted Vera with cheerful catcalls and the occasional bawdy remark. Vera handled the still slightly rattled crowd with apparent ease: a lingering touch along the shoulder here, a saucy return of laughter to the bawdy, though playful, remark there. Once Kitty was certain the saloon girl wasn't being bothered, she took the warm jar of beef tea back to her suite and closed the door.


	15. Chapter 15

Hard Promises to Keep

**Hard Promises to Keep**

**All characters are copyright to CBS, I'm just borrowing them.**

**Chapter 15**

"_Burnin' both ends of a candle_

_Can leave one in the dark_

_And I know what I put you through_

_Is hard upon your heart_

_And it's just that you're concerned for me_

_Sweetheart, I understand_

_You do the best you can with who I am"_

**-- "**Who I Am" performed by Alan Jackson

It had been quite an evening…and a day for that matter. Flash images of those events played through Kitty's mind. She crinkled her nose, smelling again the gun smoke in the silent seconds afterward as she had peered through the haze frantically searching for the one person in her life who mattered most.

_She'd known when she saw the barrel of Matt's gun lower that it wouldn't be a killing shot and that he couldn't possibly avoid O'Malley's carefully aimed bullet. Both gunmen had disappeared from her vision as she flattened herself over Sam's prostrate body to protect him. When she thought she could chance looking around she saw O'Malley, clutching what was left of his gun hand, slinking toward the batwing doors leaving a trail of blood. Westfeldt kept them covered, dragging Fancy in front of him as a human shield, until they had all cleared the saloon. The anger and helplessness she felt burned away in the wake of a growing panic. She knew Matt had been shot but she didn't see him. If he hadn't been seriously injured he certainly would have been up and after the outlaws._

Kitty closed that line of thought and focused on the present. She set the beef tea in a pan of water beside the fire where it would stay warm, then checked on Matt before she did anything else. A slight scowl creased his face, as though he'd fallen asleep thinking about something and it still bothered him. Gazing down, Kitty wondered if Matt was also plagued by memories of the day's events, even in sleep. _There wasn't anything you could have done, you know. I should have anticipated something like this would happen. _ She sighed. _I've seen it often enough._ She combed the damp, wild curls back from his forehead with her fingertips and kissed him. The gesture chased the frown from Matt's face as he relaxed, coming closer to consciousness, leaning into her comforting touch. Kitty smiled in relief. _Not much fever and he doesn't seem too much the worse for wear. Maybe Matt will get off lightly this time. He's been through so much. If I can just get him to eat something….and stop dancing with death -- at least until he's mended._

She found one of the delicate little Blue Willow cups used for tea and ladled out a small amount -- no more than a few spoonfuls, as Doc had instructed -- from the simmering jar.

Matt's eyes were finally open and followed Kitty as she approached the bedside. Seeing the cup in her hand, the lawman swallowed hard and turned his head aside. "Ah Kitty, I appreciate the thought but I…I don't think I could eat right now."

"You need to eat something, Matt. Doc's orders. You need to build your strength back up."

Matt knew she was right, but with his stomach performing queasy flip-flops he wasn't sure about eating yet. "I'm not promising anything."

"Just try it, Matt."

He cradled the porcelain in his large hands and savored the heat it gave. The liquid had a pleasant aroma, not overly medicinal or too thick with herbs. Encouraged, Matt took a cautious sip. It wasn't nearly as bland as the broth he loathed but he could identify no dominant flavor. The warmth settled into the pit of his stomach, which heaved a few times in protest and then subsided. When he was certain it wasn't going to come back up, Matt forced himself to slowly drink the remainder.

Kitty took the cup from him and set it on the bedside table. Matt's color had improved but he still looked uncomfortable and ill. "Are you all right, Matt?" she asked as she measured out the evening's final dose of quinine for him.

"Just tired," he reassured her. Matt stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. "Come to bed with me tonight, Kit. No sense in you sleeping on that chaise lounge or in the chair again."

She couldn't resist the mute appeal in his blue eyes. "Well, I don't suppose it could hurt anything." Kitty moved tiredly across the room. "Anything to make you feel better, Marshal Dillon," she consented and began unbuttoning her shirtwaist. No one would bother them at this hour of the night; as tired as she was, Kitty didn't see any point in stepping behind the dressing screen. She simply let the garments fall to the floor and stepped out of them. The corset came next, but Kitty found that her injured wrist prevented her from undoing the laces.

He saw her struggling with it and offered, "I can do that, Kitty." With deft fingers, Matt untied the laces and then loosened them. The corset too fell abandoned to the floor to join her other clothing.

The room was cold; Kitty put more wood on the fire and then sat down at her dressing table. She took a soft eggshell colored flannel nightgown trimmed with deep blue satin ribbon from one of the drawers and slipped it on over her camisole. One by one she took the pins from her hair. The thick tresses fell across her shoulders in loose waves. Matt watched her drawing the brush through those rich auburn curls and wished he were **feeling** well enough to help her with that**and then to indulge in the intimacy and passion that usually followed. Even in his present condition, his body twitched in reaction to his thoughts, causing the marshal to smile. "You don't know how much I've missed having you close, Kitty."**

Her bedtime preparations finished, Kitty glanced at Matt's reflection in the mirror and could fully read the longing in his darkened eyes. With a sigh, she extinguished the lamp, slid beneath the quilts, and curled up with her back against the lawman's chest. "Good night, Cowboy."

"Good night, Kitty. And thanks. Sleep well, pretty lady," he murmured, nestling his chin into her silken hair as he pulled her closer. Soon both were asleep, their bodies comfortably entwined.

Sometime later, Matt's restless tossing woke Kitty. She could feel the warmth emanating from his damp skin and actually heard a pained groan coming from the big man. It was the sound that snapped her to full wakefulness.

Kitty sat up in the bed, lit the lamp on her bedside table, and trimmed the wick back to its lowest setting. The big man lying next to her was also awake, had been for some time judging from the dark circles beneath his red rimmed eyes, and was trying unsuccessfully to bite back the moans of pain. A film of sweat covered his face and the look he gave her was one of pure misery.

"Shhh, Matt," she said, trying to soothe him with her touch. Matt couldn't relax because the pain had overridden all else. He moaned, surprising Kitty; the man had an iron will and seldom betrayed his discomfort to anyone. She'd seen him silently endure what had to have been excruciating injuries without making a sound.

"I…I'm sorry, Kitty," Matt managed. "I didn't mean to wake you."

She ignored his apology and got up. "Don't be ridiculous, Matt. Let me see what I can do to make you more comfortable."

"You don't have to do that," Matt protested. "Go back to sleep."

"The bandage needs changing; it's soaked through. Just let me take care of _you _for once." She gathered up the things she needed, placed them on the table on his side of the bed, and then crossed the room to retrieve one more item. "Drink this," Kitty ordered, handing a filled shot glass to him.

"What --" he began suspiciously.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Matt, it's just whiskey!" Kitty exclaimed in exasperation. "I thought it might help ease the pain a bit. Changing this dressing isn't going to be much fun, I'm afraid." Matt silently downed the whiskey and then presented his arm to her.

"Hurts like hell," Matt confessed. "I think Doc's maybe right about the bone being chipped."

Kitty began the tedious task of soaking away the old bandages from the injury. She scowled when she saw the wound; she had told Matt it was more than a graze, and she'd been right. Doc's stitching was neat and precise, although he'd kept the final layer loose to allow for drainage. She didn't think this one would scar much. The edges were irritated but not inflamed. "Well, it looks all right," she said, though her voice lacked certainty. Matt winced but was otherwise quiet as she cleaned the wound with rubbing alcohol diluted with water. She swathed it in fresh bandages and then did her best to position it in a manner that wouldn't hurt him quite so much. "It probably ought to be in a sling," she mused.

"I can't sleep like that," Matt complained. "It's too much like being tied down and it wouldn't help anyway."

She didn't pursue that argument. Kitty went over to the fireplace, coaxed the embers back into flame, and then returned to the chair at his bedside.

The whiskey evidently hadn't helped much; the big man said nothing but his hand in hers was white knuckled, a nearly crushing grip at times. Beads of sweat rolled down his face with each wave of pain. Kitty wet a cloth and soothed him with it. The fever hadn't gotten as high as it had been, but she was worried about it.

"Matt…." Kitty began helplessly.

"_No_ laudanum," he insisted between gritted teeth.

"You're being ridiculously stubborn," Kitty murmured, wishing there was something more she could do to help him.

It was the growing distress in her eyes as she watched him suffer, rather than the mounting pain, which changed Matt's mind. An hour later, he capitulated. "Just use as little as possible," he pleaded with her. "You know what it does to me."

"I know," she responded as she measured the thick cloudy liquid into a teaspoon. Matt grimaced at the bitter taste of the medication. His stomach roiled in protest; he wanted to gag but clamped his mouth closed. Without being asked, Kitty gave him a glass of water. He drank it quickly, knowing that it wouldn't quite wash away the vile taste left by the laudanum but that it was better than nothing. After taking the glass and placing it on the bedside table, Kitty once again climbed into bed beside Matt.

"Talk to me, Kitty," he said, hoping that conversation would take his mind off his discomforts and also wanting --needing-- to be close with his woman.

"Matt," she coaxed, "you really ought to try getting some sleep. You've been through so much -- too much even for a well body to endure without being worn down. How will you ever get well if you keep on like this?"

He didn't like being coddled. She was talking to him as though he were no more than a cranky toddler. "When I said talk to me, that isn't quite what I had in mind, Kitty," the big man grunted. Despite the persistent, low-grade nausea, he was pleased to note that the searing pain was beginning to subside.

Kitty bit her lip. There were things which needed said but she wasn't certain this was the appropriate time for them. "Matt," she began, taking his large, calloused hand into her warm, small one and placing them against her heart, "about your gun…."

He grinned weakly at her. "I wondered where you'd hidden it this time. It wasn't in any of the usual places."

"I put it in the bureau," she told him, stifling a laugh, "in the one drawer I knew you wouldn't dare go through."

The idea of the big Colt nestled among Kitty's delicate unmentionables struck the marshal as ludicrous. "You're right," he said gruffly, "I _wouldn't_ have looked there." He tried to laugh but groaned instead, clamping his free hand over his stomach. He was glad when Kitty didn't seem to notice his distress.

"If I hadn't put your gun belt back on its peg this afternoon…I mean, if you hadn't had it when the trouble started --"

Matt squeezed her hand and managed a smile. "I've got a spare, honey, and I'd have used that one. You weren't the cause of what happened."

"I should have told you -- well, Newly and Festus anyway -- about Fancy's troubles, but I thought Sam and I could handle whatever came along. I…I only put your gun belt back because I wanted you to _know_ I'd caught you disobeying Doc's orders." The next bit of Kitty's confession came out as a remorseful lament. "I never thought you might need the gun, not in your condition. When you told me that if you hadn't -- that Westfeldt would have -- Matt, I'm sorry!"

He didn't want her dwelling on what would have happened if he hadn't been able to prevent Westfeldt from coming up the stairs after their daughter. Matt contrived a suitable hangdog look and changed the subject. "Just how _did_ you find out I'd left? I thought I'd been pretty careful."

Kitty laughed. "Listen, Cowboy…you might be able to outsmart Doc and me, but you're no match for a special little adoring nine year old! Rose saw you going to the office and came to ask if she could go over there and play."

"I'm awful sorry about that, Kitty, but I had things which needed doing and _no one_ was listening to me."

"I shouldn't have asked you to make that promise in the first place. Matt, I'm not going to ask promises of you any more that you may not be able to keep."

Matt blinked, uncertain he'd heard correctly. Some of their most serious disagreements had been over just that: the way Kitty seemed to need a firm commitment every so often, a commitment he could seldom give because of the demands of his occupation. Oh, she never pushed for commitments regarding their relationship's status, but there were other things that were important to her where he'd let her down, again and again. There'd been a lot of implied promises broken over the years, a lot of missed birthdays and other social occasions.

Deeply moved by that concession, Matt pulled her to him until her head lay on his shoulder. For a long moment he said nothing and simply ran his hand through the silky softness of her hair. "Kitty, I do my best to keep those promises. It's just that…." He shrugged. "I have an obligation to that badge and the law behind it. It's an oath I've promised to always honor. That's just the way it's been."

Kitty smiled against his shoulder. "Things are different now."

He was silent so long Kitty wondered if Matt had finally fallen asleep. She looked into his face, flushed from the fever, and noted a contemplative far away look clouding his eyes. "Yeah," he answered slowly, thinking about the little girl in the next room and the woman who'd held sole possession of his heart and soul lying beside him, "things are definitely different." _I never expected to live this long,_ he realized. _That's one of the reasons I couldn't burden Kitty with a full commitment. _Yet keeping the relationship discreet hadn't protected her from the dangers inherent in his work or from the sorrows of seeing him suddenly shot down by those hell bent on eluding justice.

He also had a daughter to consider now. Rose's appearance in his world had gradually changed the marshal's mind about some things he'd once thought written in stone. _I guess the reasons I gave Kitty so long ago for not marrying her don't matter now. Even Kimbro eventually realized…_

"Things were different from the moment you and I promised to honor Chester's request all those years ago," Kitty echoed his unspoken thoughts.

"And I wouldn't change that decision for anything," Matt said, hugging her.

Their talking done, they lay quietly together; it had been a long time since they had been completely alone and at ease with one another. Matt loved to watch her, and he did so now as her eyes drifted slowly closed.

He knew now that she was -- and always would be -- the one true love of his life and he cursed himself for taking so long to realize what that truly meant. _I ought to ask her to marry me_, he thought yet something inside him still shied away at the thought of taking that next step. Still, he resolved to both verbalize and demonstrate his affections for her more often in the future.

Searching Kitty's face for the signs of the worry which had been her constant companion for the past week, he was relieved to see her resting well. Matt regretted the stress he'd caused her over their many years together more than he'd regretted anything else in his life. He knew he'd put her through living hell when he'd gotten so sick and then nearly succeeded in ensuring his demise…repeatedly.

Kitty's eyes flickered open and she noticed him watching her. "A penny for your thoughts, Cowboy." Kitty met his gaze and the depth and intensity of emotions reflected in those eyes nearly took her breath away.

"What time is it?" he asked.

Kitty yawned. "I don't know exactly, Matt. I'd guess there's still a few hours till dawn."

"Sleepy head," Matt teased.

"Sleepy head? I've been putting in forty-eight hour days lately!" Kitty arched an eyebrow. "I ought to take offense to that."

"But you won't," Matt whispered, tugging at the sleeve of her nightgown. She allowed him to pull her closer and went willingly into his arms. Matt wrapped them tightly around his beloved woman and pulled her snugly against his chest with his chin nestled in fiery strands of her hair. Gently, Kitty lifted her head and planted a soft kiss to her man's lips; it deepened into a full kiss, fanning the flames of desire. His lips were quite warm from the fever and slightly dry, but Kitty had missed them so much over the past weeks. Matt held her in his gaze and ran a slow hand along her gowned back as their seeking tongues slowly tangled. He felt a renewed resolve to get well as quickly as possible. Yet, as soon as the thought was formed, a sudden shaft of pain caused him to stiffen with a gasp.

Instantly contrite, Kitty pushed away from him and quickly sat up on the bed. Her sapphire eyes reflected guilt and concern. "You all right, Matt? I didn't mean to hurt you."

"It's all right, Kit, you didn't hurt me." A second wave of pain caused him to squint and take a few deep breaths as he waited for the worst of it to subside. His body was swirling with various sensations and he struggled to sort through them. Pain dominated; he ignored it and concentrated on the underlying uneasiness tugging at him. The primal tingle along his spine cultivated by Kitty's soft kisses slithered away, replaced by an icily familiar tug that held no joy.

"Are you certain?"

"Yeah, I'm sure." Matt tried a smile which didn't quite work and patted the mattress. "Lie back down and quit frettin' over me."

Kitty returned to her place in his arms. "You have got to learn to take it easy, Cowboy. You're not indestructible, you know." She broke off her scolding when she realized Matt was shivering. "You look pale. Are you _certain_ you're all right?"

Matt didn't answer her. He swallowed back the nausea and floundered upright. Running fingers through sweat soaked hair, Matt concentrated on trying to pinpoint the new, unsettling feeling that was comingled with the pain. His breathing and heart rate evened out. He felt a little better but not much.

"Matt?" Kitty had scooted over beside him. Her fingers lightly stroked his back in a soothing motion. "What's wrong?"

"I…I don't know," he answered, distracted. _If I just concentrate… _The nausea hit him again, accompanied by more rippling spasms of pain. "Kit, I feel awful strange..."

_It must be bad if he's willing to admit it so frankly. I should go get Doc. _ She didn't want to leave him alone and she hadn't the heart to go downstairs and wake Sam. "Take it easy, Matt. It'll be all right." Kitty couldn't do anything more but murmur vague reassurances and watch Matt struggle for control as a bone rattling cough hit him.

He made a clumsy attempt to get up off the bed. Dizziness drove him back against the pillows. _Think, Dillon. You're missing something important._ The laudanum induced haze made it difficult to focus his thoughts, but he finally pinpointed what was bothering him. This felt different; it wasn't drug or shock induced. It felt like….

…_.When I'm walking down Front Street and suddenly _know _someone is about to draw down on me_. He shook his head at the improbability. No one would dare come up from the saloon after them; if the patrons didn't stop them, Sam certainly would, head injury notwithstanding. _I must be sicker than I thought to be imagining such things. _Then it occurred to him that the saloon had long ago closed for the night. Listening, he didn't really hear anything. At this hour, no one should be moving about.

His lawman's instincts, however, refused to accept that explanation. "Kitty," he said, trying to make his request sound casual, "would you mind getting my gun? I'd feel a lot better with it in easier reach."

Kitty stared at him in disbelief. She didn't think her newly made promise not to interfere with his job any longer would be tested so soon. "You're not fooling anyone, Matt Dillon," she said, glaring at him, and sighed in resignation. "I know you're not going to tell me what's wrong, but I'll get it for you."

"I don't know that anything _is_ wrong," Matt explained. "I'd just sleep easier with the Colt closer at hand."

Something in his expression told her this seemingly absurd request might well be of life saving significance. She found the gun belt and then hung it on the headboard where the marshal could quickly draw it if the need arose. Going back to their bed, Kitty helped Matt get resettled and then burrowed into the blankets beside him.

They had just gotten comfortable when the door between her suite and Rose's room opened a crack. Kitty could feel Matt tense but they both relaxed as they listened to the patter of small bare feet coming closer. Kitty reluctantly opened her eyes…and blinked to make certain she was seeing what she thought she was. "Rosie," Kitty gasped, "what on earth are you doing?"

The little girl held the doll she customarily slept with in one hand and a toy wooden six shooter in the other. The latter she held pointed in a fair imitation of her father's shooting stance. "I heard noises," she said reasonably, "an' I was 'tecting Papa Matt." Her chin jutted out stubbornly -- another of Matt's classic gestures -- and her green eyes narrowed. "I'm the Marshal till Papa Matt feels better an' it's my job to 'tect the family. Uncle Festus said so."

"He did, did he?" _I'm going to string him up by his thumbs when he gets back! _Kitty and Matt had both argued with the hill man before about saying things like that to their daughter. Like her adoptive father, she tended to take such charges seriously. Unlike either of her parents, she also tended to take Festus' gentle joking literally. "And just where did you get that…toy?" Kitty asked, pointing at the wooden replica.

"Uncle Festus made it for Tommy an' Tommy gived it to me."

_Brother! I thought I made it clear to the girls that Rose wasn't to be playing with the boys any more._ The boys had made a point of teasing the little girl, whom they considered a mite dim witted anyhow, about her insistence that Matt was her papa. They often goaded her into playing boys' games to prove she was like the marshal, as she fiercely claimed. Kitty had spent quite a few hours rinsing dirt and grass stains out of pinafores, repairing rips in dresses, and lecturing her wayward daughter on proper behavior for young ladies.

"Well," she said firmly, "I think you'd better give it to me now." Reluctantly, Rose handed it to her. Kitty could see the questions and anxiety written on her daughter's face. Whatever her mental shortcomings, Rose was a sensitive, intuitive child. She was still overcome with horrible bouts of insecurity when it came to fears of her adoptive family being taken away. Kitty was quick to reassure her daughter, "I'll take good care of Papa Matt and make sure nothing else happens to him." She kissed the little girl on the forehead and gently swatted her on the backside. "Now go on back to bed."

"Let her stay, Kitty. She can't hurt anything."

"Matt, I thought you were asleep!" Kitty scolded.

A faint smile touched the marshal's lips. "I was…until I saw my daughter making her rounds. Let it go, Kitty." He held out his hand. "C'mere, Rosie. It's too cold for you to be standing around in your nightgown."

Matt and Kitty made room for the little girl as she carefully climbed up into the big brass bed. Nestled between the two, Rose wrapped one little hand in Kitty's curls and snuggled into Matt's shoulder. Matt remained awake after the rest of his family had fallen asleep in his arms. He listened tensely to the darkness, uncertain of what he should be hearing but convinced that _something _was out there. _Rose doesn't tell whoppers,_ he realized. _I ought to have asked her what she heard._ Both he and Kitty had assumed that their daughter had either heard them moving about or had only thought she heard noises. As Matt continued to ponder Rosie's motivations, he heard Kitty's breathing even out as she finally drifted back to sleep.

There it was again: a scuffling sound and the slight creaking of the risers on the back stairs. Someone was trying to come up unnoticed but wasn't familiar enough with the terrain to know that the ninth riser always made noise when stepped on. "Kitty! Kitty," the now fully alert lawman whispered urgently, "wake up."

"Go 'way, Matt, I'm trying to sleep," she muttered grumpily.

He shook her gently by the shoulder. "Kitty, I need you to wake up. We're about to have some unwanted company."

"Mmm," she muttered into the pillow, "they can help themselves from the bar. I ain't servin' tonight."

"Kitty." The marshal's voice, cold and businesslike, had the same effect that a bucket of ice water would have; she sat up and stared at him. He was a lawman now, all traces of her lover hidden beneath the steel blue gaze and impassive expression.

She scooped up the child sleeping between them and held Rose close, sheltering her from their discussion so she wouldn't wake. "What's wrong, Matt?"

Matt, freed of his daughter's embrace, slid the colt out of its holster. He flicked the loading gate open with his thumb and checked the cylinder to ensure it had remained loaded. "Someone's coming up the back stairs."

"Maybe it's Festus," she suggested but her voice trembled with doubt. She was beginning to catch Matt's uneasiness.

"Festus knows about the ninth riser and so does Newly," Matt countered as he slipped the Colt back into its holster and quickly strapped on the belt.

"Most of the town does," Kitty ironically conceded.

"Well, whoever's coming up here didn't. I want you to take Rose and hide in your dressing room. Don't come out until I tell you it's safe to do so." He gripped her arm, not un-gently but with more pressure than he would customarily have used. "I mean it. No matter what you hear, no matter what happens, don't come out until I tell you to." He'd finished buckling his gun belt around his waist and held the Colt cocked and ready. "Now go; they're on the landing."

Kitty gathered Rose into her arms; the little girl nuzzled into Kitty's neck, murmuring "Love you, Mama Kitty" as she slept. Before Kitty could obey Matt's orders, however, the door splintered inwards. A bullet whined through the air and struck the window, shattering it.

"No time now," Matt shouted as he threw himself between his family and the intruder, "get down and don't move!"


End file.
